


Lemon Spell

by ParadiseAvenger



Series: Lemon Collections [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, Lemons, Sexual Fantasy, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-10-05 18:45:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseAvenger/pseuds/ParadiseAvenger
Summary: Anything you want or imagine... any fantasy you have... any desire that wakes you in the night, panting and sweaty... can be found in the Spell of Lemons, but only for a price. A collection of one-shot citrus for DRACO and HERMIONE. Requests welcome.Ch 3: When Hermione hit a werewolf with her car, she thought it was the worst thing she could have done. However, it turned out to be the best. [Tags: hurt/comfort, knotting, long tongue]





	1. The Ferret Incident

**Summary:** The Unfortunate Ferret Incident

 **Tags:** touch-starvation

“Every true love and friendship is a story of unexpected transformation. If we are the same person before and after we loved, that means we haven't loved enough.” ―Elif Shafak

Well, it's my 100th story! Back to basics, I suppose.

XXX

Transfiguration was never supposed to be easy. Honestly, Draco Malfoy had never expected Pansy would be able to do it. That was partly why he agreed to let her practice on him. Well, that, and the fact that he had on good authority that she planned on thanking him—profusely and sweatily—for his assistance afterwards. He thought they would waste an hour or two sitting in her bedroom while her roommate was out. He thought he would complain of the heat, posed dramatically on her bed for peak transfiguration, and peel off layer after layer of his clothes until she decided to sod the whole affair.

However, after he had only removed his robe and shoes, Pansy suddenly had a stroke of brilliance. One moment, he was lounging on her bed, bored out of his mind, and the next, he had a sudden view up her skirt at her striped panties. He didn't particularly mind the view, but he had not been prepared for Pansy's attempt to transfigure him to actually work. Somehow, the bleeding bint had pulled it off. She jumped frenetically around her room, squealing with delight and clapping her hands. Her footsteps were thunderous to his newly-sensitive ears.

“Draco!” she shrieked. “Did you see that? I did it! McGonagall will have to pass me now!”

From his new position, Draco rose up on his hind legs and grasped at her calf with his paws. A thong, he realized, as he looked up at her. She had a lovely plump arse that he wouldn't mind sinking his teeth in to, just as soon as he was back to normal. Irritably, he tried to yell her name, but the barest chirrup escaped instead. Horrified, he tried again and scratched at her.

Pansy was still too delighted with herself to pay his plight any mind. Though she did lean down and scoop him against her firm breasts to cuddle him, it didn't make Draco feel any better. In fact, his new little body lurched uncomfortably as she continued jumping around. The weight of her breasts nearly crushed him between them.

Pansy lifted him level with her face, planting little kisses along his snout. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and huffed inwardly. A ferret, she had transfigured him into a white ferret. Annoyed, he put his teeth to the tip of her nose to show her how he felt about her newfound skill.

With a yelp and with no other warning, Pansy completely dropped him.

Draco landed with a thump on the carpet. He perched on his back legs again, grumbling at her. What was she thinking?

“You bit me!” Pansy said incredulously.

Draco hoped he looked as annoyed as he felt.

“Oh, right,” Pansy said. Her stupidity was unmatched—except, apparently, when it came to transfiguration. “I'll change you back now.” She crouched down in front of him on the floor, giving him another marvelous view up her skirt. The thong pinched between her cheeks. With his sensitive animal nose, he could pick out the exact aroma of her musk and arousal. Accomplishing something pleased her.

All that was left now was to have her please him.

Draco vibrated with anticipation of having Pansy in all the ways he could think of. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw something massive that sent a chill down his spine. Pansy had an owl like everyone did. Unlike everyone else, she had a Great Horned Owl, a fantastic regal bird that Draco had always been envious of. The owl's yellow eyes were fixed on him with rapt attention. For a moment, that meant nothing to Draco and he listened absently to Pansy practicing the incantation to turn him back. Then, he realized that Great Horned Owls ate ferrets in the wild.

Draco shrieked, jumping up to put him paws on Pansy's knees in earnest. He chittered at her urgently, glancing back and forth between the ravenous bird and her stupid face.

She giggled, petting his head with the tip of one finger. “I think I like you like this. You're so cute!”

Behind her, the great bird began to beat its wings and bob its head. Hunger filled its expression.

Draco didn't leave his fate in Pansy's hands. Like a loosed Snitch, he took off running as fast as his little legs could carry him.

“Draco!” Pansy shouted. “Draco, get back here!”

Draco slipped out of her bedroom an instant before the owl pounced. He heard Pansy shout again and the furious flight of the hungry owl. He bolted from the Slytherin dorms and down the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. He didn’t tire as quickly as he usually did. However, with his short legs, he lost track of how long he ran for and how far he had even come. The familiar hallways looked so different when his perspective had been changed to ground level. He couldn't see the familiar portraits. He couldn't see anything except the baseboards and the ornately-patterned rugs.

Disconcertingly, the longer he ran, the more he began to... forget that he ever cared about Pansy or classes or transfiguration. He started to just think about food. He was hungry, so hungry. He wanted meat, something rare—no, something raw. He wanted to eat something that was still alive. He wanted to devour a little bird, a mouse, a fluttering insect.

Draco stopped and shook himself all over from nose to tail. He vaguely remembered Professor McGonagall saying that people who transfigured themselves into animals lost their human intellect. They became the animal that they had changed in to. However, this fact didn't trouble Draco the way it should have. He was hungry and he was tired. He wanted to eat and then sleep. Then, maybe he would go back to Pansy. She had smelled so delicious and he liked how much skin her little thong showed. He licked his pointed teeth and set off again, though not in the direction of the Slytherin dorm.

He could smell food—could smell meat—and he followed it.

Draco couldn't tell where he was or how he had gotten there. He nosed through a break in the baseboard, snaked through the wall behind a portrait, and found himself in a red-and-gold room. The smell was stronger now. He could pick out the subtle aromas of barbecue and pepper, wood and smoke, clean laundry and sweet skin. A girl was stretched out on the red velvet sofa with a book in her lap and a bag of jerky by her side. She read and snacked aimlessly, unable to sleep despite the late hour.

Draco scuttled across the carpet, put his paws on the couch, and chortled at her. If he hadn't been so focused on the jerky she was eating, he might have noticed—and cared—that he was in the Gryffindor dorm.

Hermione Granger had been at Hogwarts a few years now and was no longer surprised by strange sights such as an albino ferret showing up after midnight on a Tuesday. Nibbling the jerky between her lips, she greeted the ferret with a scratch. She assumed it was someone's pet and that she wouldn't be alone in the common room much longer. However, no one joined her and the ferret barked loudly.

“Hungry, little guy?” she asked.

The ferret had remarkable sharp grey eyes and a cute pink nose. Its snowy white fur was breathtakingly soft when she ventured out a hand to pet it.

Draco stared hard at Hermione Granger, the best friend of his sworn nemesis, in shock. How had he even gotten into the Gryffindor common room? However, his eyes caught on the jerky she was eating. He was so hungry. He wanted some and that thought consumed him. He chirped and crooned, nuzzling her fingers despite himself.

Hermione knew ferrets were carnivores. Even though salted and dried jerky probably wasn't in a ferret's natural diet, she didn't think one little piece would hurt it. Besides, it really did look hungry. She passed the ferret a strip of jerky and watched at it hungrily devoured the snack. When it finished, it put its paws back on the couch and snuffled for more.

Hermione marked her page, sealed her snack, and swung her legs down to the floor. The ferret scratched at her exposed shin, trying to climb up into her lap. Hermione picked up the ferret and cuddled it against her chest, searching for a collar or identifying mark. She didn't recognize it. Not a lot of Gryffindors had ferrets as pets. They all tended to favor owls and cats, except for Ron who had the terrible sense to have a pet rat.

Hogwarts was large, rambling, and aged with plenty of secret passages and winding halls. There was no guarantee the little creature hadn't wandered down from the Hufflepuff or Slytherin dorms. Hermione needed to turn the ferret over to the headmaster and let the professors sort out finding who the ferret belonged to. However, it was after midnight. She didn't need to get detention for wandering the school nor did she need to wake any teachers at such an ungodly hour. (She was sure Harry would take care of waking everyone and causing problems later in the year.)

Chucking the ferret under its chin, she carried the beast to her bedchamber and crept past her sleeping bunkmate. She gave the ferret another piece of jerky and set him down on her bed while she changed out of her uniform and into pajamas. The ferret was watching her, perched on its hind legs and licking its lips, when she turned back. With a little smile, she petted it on the head.

“We'll get you all sorted in the morning,” she promised the ferret. “We'll find your owner.”

The ferret snorted and began washing its face.

Hermione put away the bag of jerky and crawled under the covers. The ferret paced around her pillow for a moment, peering down over the edge of the bed. She held out a hand and rubbed her fingers together, promising pets the way she would to a cat. The ferret crept over and sat dolefully beside her cheek. Hermione scratched it gently until she fell asleep.

Draco found that he was losing his consciousness quickly—too quickly. He needed to get back to Pansy and have her undo this damned spell before he forgot everything he ever knew. However, Hermione kept petting his head. The dregs of Draco left inside the ferret couldn't help but lean into her touch, soaking it up. His parents hadn't allowed him a pet and they didn't show much affection either. He had always wanted a pet, wanted something to love and be loved by unconditionally.

He pulled from her hand and paced to the edge of her bed, looking down. He needed to jump, to get out of here, to get back to Pansy. He needed her to undo the stupid spell. Hermione made that sound again, a faint call as she rubbed her fingers together. Unbidden, Draco returned to her hand and let her pet him. She cuddled him close, tucked under her chin and beside her neck. She was so warm and she smelled wonderful. He could smell her perfume—no, it wasn't perfume. It was simply soap and shampoo.

The ferret cuddled into Hermione, crooning softly, sadly.

“Don't worry,” she consoled the animal sleepily. “We'll get you home again.”

Draco leaned his face into her scratching fingers. It was nice, so nice, to be touched like this. He couldn't even remember the last time someone had hugged him. Sex was different—it was all grabbing and squeezing, pulling and grinding, yanking and scratching. It wasn't like this—this pure affection that was gifted upon an animal. Draco melted beneath Hermione's hand. His last human thought was that he wanted a little bit more, just a little bit more time to be touched like this.

…

Hermione woke and left early while Parvati Patil was still asleep so she could avoid any questions as to how and why she had come to have someone’s pet ferret. She scooped the ferret off her pillow, tucked the little warm body under her chin with a smile, and carried the ferret down to the headmaster's office first thing. It curled tighter against her neck, murmuring and licking her skin. Hermione caught herself thinking that she was loathe to return it. She missed Crookshanks so much. Smiling, she scratched it playfully as it rolled lazily around in her hands like a slinky.

She heard a shrill young voice fussing against Professor McGonagall’s calm one as she rounded the corner and stopped dead. Just outside the office, Professor McGonagall and Pansy Parkinson stood together. Pansy was sobbing into her hands, great loud wails that made Hermione want to turn around and head back to her common room. She could keep the ferret another day. Clearly whatever Pansy was going through was paramount compared to Hermione catching a loose weasel.

“Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said, fixing Hermione in place with her sharp cat-like gaze. “What do you have there?”

“A ferret, Professor,” Hermione explained. “It wandered into the dorms last night. I kept it overnight. Is it yours, Pansy?”

Pansy looked up sharply, her face streaked and blotchy. “Draco!” she wailed.

Confused, Hermione turned her gaze back to Professor McGonagall. She scratched the ferret absently as it nibbled at her fingers. “What's going on?”

“I’ll take the little bugger off your hands,” Professor McGonagall offered. She reached out her hands for the ferret and withdrew her wand from her sleeve.

Instantly on edge, the ferret snarled and arched its back, bristling in Hermione’s arms.

Hermione took a step back, regarding Pansy and Professor McGonagall with sudden caution. Ever since Mad-Eye Moody had been replaced by a Death Eater drinking Polyjuice potion, Hermione found that one couldn’t be too careful. “Professor?” she asked.

“For heaven’s sake,” Professor McGonagall said and lowered her arms to her sides. “He’s forgotten everything already, it seems.”

“Forgotten?” Hermione repeated. “He? Who?”

Professor McGonagall muttered a de-transfiguration spell before Hermione could blink. All at once, she was no longer holding a cute little ferret. Instead, she found her arms wrapped snugly around Draco Malfoy's chest. He was decidedly nude, having shed his clothes when Pansy transformed him. Hermione let out an undignified yelp and snatched her hands away from all that bare alabaster flesh. In an instant, Professor McGonagall had clothed Draco in his Slytherin robes. Hermione didn't have a chance to make out anything beyond the naked white muscles of his back and chest. He was toned from Quidditch practice and she wasn't sure if she was angry or relieved that Professor McGonagall had dressed him so quickly.

Blinking owlishly, Draco didn't seem aware of what had transpired. Hermione could practically smell smoke as the gears in his head turned, trying to figure out what had happened as he looked between the three of them.

Pansy recovered first. She threw herself on Draco, weeping openly and dramatically.

“I hope you've learned a lesson, Miss Parkinson,” Professor McGonagall said shortly. She brushed her hands together and pocketed her wand. “Transfiguration is not child's play and it is not something for young witches to practice on young wizards in the middle of the night. You're very lucky Miss Granger found him.”

Pansy nodded, her smudged face pinched with tears.

To Hermione, Professor McGonagall said, “Well done on catching an errant ferret. Five points to Gryffindor,” she tipped her head at Pansy, “and five points from Slytherin.”

Hermione flushed for a myriad of reasons—some pride, mostly horror, especially when Draco turned his grey eyes on her.

“And Mister Malfoy, I hope you have learned a lesson as well,” Professor McGonagall told him.

Draco nodded mechanically and scraped Pansy off himself. “Thanks, Professor,” he said politely.

Hermione hadn't known he could be polite, but he did look as though he was in a fog. She wondered what he must be feeling. She had never known anyone to be transfigured into an animal all night. She almost asked him about it, thought better of it, turned on her heel, and left.

Draco watched her go, her pleated skirt bouncing as she flounced off in a huff. His head felt stuffed with cotton, his eyes were sore and dry, his mouth was flavored with barbecue, and a pleasant tingle stretched across his scalp. Pansy was still caterwauling, clinging to his sleeves and spewing apologies. However, he found himself lacking concern for her. Instead, his mind struggled to shape the ferret's memories into his own. Mainly sensations remained—smells, tastes, feelings. He cataloged each as it flit through his brain.

He had scented the hungry owl, the musk of Pansy's sex, the heady meat that summoned him to the Gryffindor common room.

He had tasted Hermione's midnight snack, so strong and filling.

He had felt the heat of Hermione's body when she cradled him close. He had felt her stroking him, scratching his whole body, rubbing the sensitive place under his chin and behind his ears.

The smells, tastes, and touches blurred. Draco couldn't quite remember what it had been like to smell with a ferret's nose or see with the ferret's eyes, but he could remember everything as though it had happened to his human body. The memory of Granger's stroking fingers coursed through his blood, warm and tingly, until it settled into his groin.

“Are you okay?” Pansy asked desperately. She pulled at his robe until he looked down at her. “I'm so sorry!”

“I'm fine,” Draco told her firmly. He couldn't tear his gaze from the hall where Hermione had vanished. His skin prickled, feeling her warm phantom hands resting on his body as he had slept beside her. The memory of her soft breathing and steady heartbeat pounded inside his skull as though he were still curled beside her. He shook himself, unsettled. “I'm fine.”

…

In the Great Hall just a scant half-hour later, Draco had dressed in fresh robes and found himself seated alongside Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Pansy was still sobbing and sniffling pathetically, but her tears dried each time someone came over to ask her what happened. Then, she would launch into an exaggerated tale of her successful transfiguration of Draco into a white ferret. Once whoever her captive audience was departed, she would start crying again—traitorous bint. For his part, Draco mostly ignored her. He was starving. He dug into the endless breakfast with gusto.

Crabbe watched him with something akin to surprise as Draco commonly didn’t eat more than an apple for breakfast.

“Burn a lot of calories last night?” Goyle asked with a hint of jealousy, watching Draco shovel up eggs and bacon before glancing at the weeping Pansy.

Draco cast his eyes between Pansy and Goyle, swallowed, and scowled. “Not hardly,” he said coldly. “Haven’t you heard the story of my unexpected transfiguration?”

Pansy sniffled primly and wiped her face with a napkin. “I said I was sorry.”

Goyle had already heard the story, but his squinty envious expression told Draco all he needed to know.

Draco helped himself to a waffle, ignoring both Pansy and Goyle now.

Crabbe pushed him the syrup, regarding his friends with concern. “Any side effects?” he asked Draco.

“Not that I can tell,” Draco said, helping himself to more bacon. “I’m hungry and there are some weird sense-memories floating around my head, but I feel fine.”

Crabbe nodded thoughtfully.

Draco was deep into his second plate when the morning mail arrived. The Great Hall filled with owls carrying packages, letters, and parcels. Pansy’s Great Horned Owl landed noisily between them and regarded Draco with interest. Draco wondered if the bird could still smell ferret on him, even though he had showered and changed. A little shiver ran down his spine, some inkling of the ferret’s memories of being prey. Abruptly, he found himself recalling the scent of Granger’s jerky and clean clothing instead. He pushed his plate away.

Across the Great Hall, he saw the Weasley’s drunken owl land face down in a plate of scrambled eggs. Ron made a great show of being embarrassed as he plucked the bundle of letters for his siblings from the old bird’s beak. Harry lifted his arm for Hedwig to perch on though the bird brought nothing, stroking the owl’s snowy feathers and whispering nonsense. For her part, Hermione didn’t get any mail by owl since she was muggle-born. She daintily sliced a piece of sausage and waved it under Errol’s nose. The owl revived, shaking himself off in a brilliant shower of eggs. Draco could practically hear Ron shrieking all the way from his position at the Slytherin table.

Draco kept his gaze on Hermione, his skin prickling. She wrapped a cloth napkin over her hand to protect it and beckoned Errol onto her fingers. She supported the old bird kindly, petting his bedraggled feathers and picking bits of egg off his wings. She fed him little strips of sausage, smiling beautifully all the while. Draco couldn’t help but think of the way her hands had felt last night, petting his little ferret body, feeding him, cuddling him.

“Draco?” Pansy interrupted his thoughts.

“What?” he snapped, startled by both his train of thought and her sudden voice.

“No mail?” Crabbe asked softly.

Draco glanced around, but his family owl didn’t show. “Guess not,” he said. “My parents are both very busy.”

He told himself that it didn’t matter and kept his features schooled into a mask of indifference, even as Crabbe stuffed his face with homemade cookies and Pansy showed off a knitted scarf of rainbow colors. Draco rose from the table and marched off. He glanced over his shoulder at the Gryffindor table to see Hermione hadn’t stopped lavishing attention of Ron’s arthritic bird. She had puckered her lips, accepting little pecking kisses from the owl. He was horrified to find that a bubble of want was welling in his chest.

…

Draco did his best to be extra mean to Hermione whenever he had the opportunity—which turned out not to be very often. It wasn’t as though they shared too many classes and they each sat with their own houses at mealtimes. However, each time he glowered at her, she flushed and turned away. Draco didn’t even need to say anything to get her to stop staring at him and focus on talking to Ron or Harry.

He had hoped that he would forget all about the Unfortunate Ferret Incident with time, but it remained forefront in his mind. At least, the memory of Hermione’s touch remained uncomfortably present in his consciousness. He found himself dreaming about that night, imagining lying beside her in human form, soaking up her caresses like a gentle beast. He woke, sweat-soaked and hard each time.

He tried to distract himself in a myriad of ways. He had a fling with Pansy, which turned out to be a terrible idea because she leeched herself on to him and he had to scrape her away with increasing ferocity. He wrote letters to his mother and father, boring them with the details of his schoolwork, hoping to make them feel guilty for failing to owl their only son. He didn’t receive a response, not that he was particularly surprised by that. He poured himself into the subjects he particularly liked which only brought his thoughts of Hermione back around as she struggled to out-do him.

It was after midnight and he woke again with a start—this time from a nightmare.

It was the same one as always. It was always the same.

He was trapped in a void of darkness. Snakes slithered, chilly, against his bare skin. Someone whispered Unforgivable Curses, someone screamed in anguish. His arm burned, flickering with the image of Voldemort’s Dark Mark or bruises that lay oddly against his white skin. His skin crawled, his chest was tight, his heart hammered.

Draco threw the covers off and practically fell out of bed. He had a room all to himself—the perks of being a Malfoy—but being alone was crushing. His own raspy breathing was the only sound in the empty room. His heart jackhammered in his ears, pounding almost painfully against his ribcage. He pulled his robe over his pajamas, grabbed his broom, shoved open the window, and jumped out.

The cold night air cleared his head almost as quickly as the sudden drop. He plummeted for half-a-dozen feet before swinging his body along his broom and streaking through the darkness. He carefully mapped his path around the areas that he knew the teachers watched and avoided the Astronomy Tower out of habit. He circled the school once, twice, hoping that the night air would sober him. Though his flight chased the nightmare, it left him feeling hollow. The moon watched sadly, a splinter of silver on the horizon over the lake.

Draco flew slower, leaning back to look up at the void of sky. His bare feet, exposed nose, and gripping fingers were cold and numb. He circled the school once more time, promising himself he would go back to his cool bed after this final lap. However, he hesitated as he circled the Gryffindor tower. He peeked in windows quickly, looking for a familiar face. He found Potter, sitting up at the window as though woken from a nightmare of his own but too goody-goody to sneak out for a midnight flight. Harry didn’t have his glasses on and didn’t see Draco.

Draco moved on quickly. He found the girl’s tower and hovered for a moment, looking through the frothy drapes. He didn’t see Hermione. She was probably asleep, untroubled by the things that bothered him. Her parents were muggles, not Death Eaters. Even though her parents didn’t send her mail, she undoubtedly knew that they loved her, unlike his. She scored well in all her classes. She garnered affection from her friends, teachers, pets… She had everything he wanted greedily for himself. He hovered outside the window he thought might belong to her if the pile of books on the bedside table was any indication. He didn’t knock or otherwise call attention to himself.

After a few moments, he silently flew back to his room and slipped in through the window. Latching it behind himself, he tucked his broom back into the corner, crawled beneath his covers, and lay in the silent room by himself.

…

Hermione woke with a start, unnerved. She sat up in bed and looked around, tangling her fingers in her blankets. Parvati was snoring quietly, face mashed into her pillow in an unattractive way, dark hair streaming like spilled ink on her white sheets. She scoured her surroundings, trying to figure out what had woken her. Maybe it was because she hadn’t brought Crookshanks with her this year. Her big orange cat was getting old and he didn’t like traveling by magical train any more. Hermione had elected to leave him at home, but she missed him something terrible at night. The comfort of a pet was priceless.

She dragged her hands over her face and through her hair. She was about to lay back down and try to go back to sleep when she glimpsed something hovering outside her bedroom window. It was a small shape, a smudge of lightness against the night sky. If not for the bright full moon, she might not have noticed at all. She crept out of bed and tugged back the curtain.

For an instant, she couldn’t believe what see was seeing.

Draco Malfoy hovered on his expensive broom. His pale face was drawn and he looked exhausted. His whole body shook slightly, shivering in the cold night air. When he realized that Hermione had seen him, he took off like a star streaking through the night and vanished. Hermione heaved open the window and looked around. She didn’t dare call for him, lest she wake her slumbering bunkmate. What was he doing flying at night like this? Why had he been hovering outside her window? Or was he there for some other reason, searching for some conquest so he could say he’d done it with someone from every house? Looking for a new way to antagonize her, Harry, and Ron?

Hermione tucked herself back in bed. Unbidden, she thought of the night she had spent cuddling the ferret—which had turned out to be Draco, she recalled with a shudder. She couldn’t be sure that Draco hadn’t lost much of his human consciousness at that point. He might have just been pure ferret, depending on how long he had been transfigured for, and maybe that had been why he was so sweet and cuddly. She wasn’t ready to think that it was the young man, Draco himself, who was so desperately seeking affection that he had cuddled up to a muggle-born witch in ferret form.

No, she was not nearly ready to think that yet.

…

When Draco woke two nights later from a different nightmare, he didn’t immediately fly from his room like a bat out of hell. Instead, he turned on the bedside lamp and waited a little while in the warm light, thinking, waiting for his hands to stop shaking. A little cancerous thought had taken up root in his brain ever since Hermione had seen him the other night. She hadn’t looked horrified to see him, just surprised and a little concerned. Maybe… maybe she wouldn’t mind if he…

Draco shook himself. He was a Malfoy, for God's sake. He did not need a mudblood’s comfort. He didn't need anyone's comfort—he was no longer a child. He certainly did not need the comfort of Hermione Granger. He was fine. He was—

His scalp prickled with the memory of Hermione's touch, the animal part of his soul crying out for comfort and contact.

Draco threw off the covers and paced alongside his bed, bare feet soundless on the cushy rug. His broom came to his hand without his express wish. The wood was warmish and soothed him like the embrace of a friend. How embarrassing, Draco thought, thinking a broom was his friend. However, the thought struck a cord in him.

How lonely was he...

Draco mounted the broom and swooped out the window. He hadn't donned his cloak and the night's chill immediately bit through him. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. He lapped around the castle, forcing himself to stay away from Hermione's room. However, he found himself there regardless, hovering on the other side of the wavy glass and foamy curtains. He couldn’t see inside. He hovered for a moment, unsteady in the winds buffeting around the Gryffindor tower.

He was about to leave, really, he was.

Then, abruptly, Hermione thrust open the window and hissed in a low voice, “Malfoy!? What are you doing here?”

He was so startled that he nearly fell off his broom. The Nimbus veered sharply beneath him and he almost struck the tower, preventing himself from smashing his body into the stonework only a second shy with an outstretched hand and foot. His heart skipped a beat, breath coming short as he looked down at the dizzying drop. He couldn’t even see the jagged cliff in the darkness like this, but he knew it was there.

“Careful!” Hermione whisper-shouted. She stretched out one hand as though to help him.

Draco pulled steady, hovering evenly with her window. He stared at her outstretched hand for a moment, surprised that she would do even that for him.

Hermione, realizing she was reaching for him, drew her hand back inside the window. She looked embarrassed.

Draco swallowed. “Just out for a flight, Granger,” he forced himself to say coldly. “What's it to you?”

“A flight?” Hermione repeated incredulously. “It's after one in the morning.”

Draco turned the conversation sharply. “Yeah, well, what are you doing up?”

Hermione crossed her arms over her breasts, drawing Draco's awareness to the fact that she was wearing only a tank top over her cotton shorts and the cold air was blowing on her. “I was woken by something lurking outside my window. Should I call for help? Or are you going to tell me what you're doing here?”

Draco regarded her, his heart at war with his head. He could see her bed, the worn quilt rumpled back. The sheets were probably still warm from her body. She looked sleepy, her wild hair mussed and her eyes less stinging than usual. His gaze caught on her hand, folded into the crook of her elbow irritably. She tapped her fingers, her nails round and smooth.

“What?” Hermione demanded. “Why?”

It took Draco a moment to realize that he had spoken.

“Transfigure you?” Hermione repeated, voice rising an octave. “After what happened with Pansy?”

Draco shushed her.

She realized Parvati was still asleep and quieted, but her voice was no less fierce. “Are you nuts? Or are you just trying to get me into trouble?”

“No trouble,” Draco said hastily. “I just...”

Hermione regarded him, but she wasn't angry. “Just what, Malfoy?”

He drew his broom closer to her window, resting his palm on the sill and pulling himself close enough that they could easily whisper. The cold wind stirred her hair and her nipples pebbled in the cold.

Draco swallowed and focused on her face. “I want you to transfigure me and,” he hesitated, “let me spend the night, like when I was the ferret.”

Hermione flushed and blurted, “I didn't know that was you. I never would have—”

Draco crumpled inward. His chest felt crushed, ribs and bones sucking the air from the lungs and pressing the blood from his heart. However, he forced himself not to show Hermione any weakness. He was a Malfoy, he didn't need anyone—especially not Granger. He kicked off the sill forcefully and hung in the open air. “Forget it,” he snapped at her. He didn't give either of them a chance to think further. He disappeared into the night.

Hermione rested her hands on the window and leaned out to look after him. She whisper-shouted his name, but he didn't return. With a sigh, she closed the window and crawled back into her still-warm bed. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she stared at the crackled ceiling. What was that all about? Since when did Draco ask for things like... like that?

She rubbed her face and rolled over, pressing her cheek into the soft pillow. She rested her hand where the ferret had once slept beside her, cuddled beneath her chin, working its little claws against her skin, warbling as it dreamed. That ferret had been Draco. She still couldn't believe it.

And now, weeks later, he had come back to her window and asked for that again. In fact, she had caught him loitering outside her window on another occasion. She couldn't be sure how long he had been coming, how long he had been thinking about it, how long he had spent working up the courage to ask her for something so usual?

Hermione promised herself that she would give him a little chance. She would hear him out. It was the least she could do.

…

The next night, Hermione went to bed early, but set an alarm for midnight. She let the quiet alarm rouse her without waking Parvati, pulled the quilt off her bed, pushed the curtain back, and curled in the window. She had a nice view of the night sky and she waited for Draco to show himself, passing the time by reading or practicing small spells. For three nights, Draco didn't show. Then, on the fourth night, just when Hermione was beginning to think that her plan was stupid—he showed himself. He rode up on his broomstick, just like the other times she had seen him.

Since she had the curtains pulled back and was clearly waiting for him, he didn't bother trying to pretend he was out for a late night flight. Hermione didn't pretend either. She opened the window and wrapped the quilt tight around her shoulders to ward off the chill.

“Hi,” Draco said. He sounded surprisingly small. In his pajamas and without his black robes, he looked young too.

“Hi,” Hermione repeated.

Draco pulled up alongside the window, resting his cold bare hand on the stone sill.

“Tell me why,” Hermione said. She didn't stare at him. Instead, she kept her gaze on his hand, giving him an out if he wanted one. She saw his fingers twitch, start to curl into a fist against the stone like he was nervous. She couldn’t help but notice that he had long graceful fingers. “Tell me why you want me to transfigure you. Tell me the truth—whatever it is—and I'll consider it. Don't lie to me.”

Draco swallowed. His throat was tight and dry. For a moment, he didn't think he'd even be able to get out the truth. It was so out there, so ridiculous, that he doubted she would even believe it. The Malfoy heir, coming to his nemesis and asking for a cuddle—to cowardly to even ask her to cuddle him in human form. It would be easier to pretend he wanted a quick shag from the forbidden Gryffindor fruit, but that wasn't the truth. She wasn't looking at him and she wasn't judging him. He had one chance to get what he really wanted.

“Draco?” she asked.

The sound of his first name on her lips shattered his resolve.

“I want you to transfigure me into something you'd like to... cuddle with and I want you to... cuddle me, like you did that night when I was a ferret and you didn't know it was me,” he admitted.

Hermione didn't speak or run screaming so he forged ahead.

“It turns out that my human consciousness doesn't last all night. It only lasted a few hours before so it won't be like you're sleeping with me all night,” Draco continued. “After a little while, I really will be just an animal. I'll be whatever animal you turn me in to and I'll be whatever you want me to be—cat, rat, dog, owl, anything.”

Hermione glanced at him. Her expression was open and curious. There was no trace of the disgust or horror he had been expecting. Slowly, she said, “But... why?”

Draco drew a shaky breath. The wind buffeted his broom, knocking his knee against the stone.

Hermione reached as though to steady him and then drew her hand back into the safety of her quilt before she touched him.

It took all his self-control not to reach for her in turn. “Because... I'm... I just—I want it, okay?” he said finally. “I just want to be... held and petted and...” Loved was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed that little confession. Granger was open-minded, but he didn't know just how open-minded she was ready to be.

Hermione heaved a big sigh. She ventured one hand out from beneath the quilt and pushed it through her tangled hair. “Alright,” she said finally, “but neither of us breathe a word of this to anyone and you only stay the night in animal form. You have to leave first thing in the morning, before Parvati wakes up.”

Draco let go of the sill and stretched out his hand. “Done.”

Hermione regarded him and then gripped his fingers. She hissed, “God, your hand is like ice.”

Draco tried to draw back, but Hermione used her grip to pull him into the window. His bare feet made a soft slap as he touched down on the stone floor of her bedroom. He set his broom down and nudged it under her bed with his toes. She was still holding his hand and her skin was so warm.

Hermione fetched her wand and gripped it tightly. “Any requests?” she asked with a breathless little laugh.

Draco shivered, chilled now that he was in her warm bedchamber. “Something fluffy.”

Thinking of Crookshanks, Hermione transfigured him on the third try into a white Persian cat. Draco wasn't surprised that it came much easier to her than it had come to Pansy. He melted out of his clothing and padded over to Hermione's ankles. He rubbed against her calves, purring. The cat’s vision was phenomenal despite—or perhaps because of—the darkness. Hermione was truly pretty, he realized and then shook the thought away.

Hermione laughed uneasily, put her wand aside, and scooped him up in her arms. She threw her quilt back on her bed and dropped onto the mattress, scratching Draco behind the ears. She settled down, resting her head on the pillow. Draco paced the bed, purring, kneading the soft sheets.

“Are you still in there?” she asked hesitantly.

The cat regarded her with grey eyes—with Draco's eyes. Intelligence still glittered behind his gaze and she knew he was listening.

Hermione scratched under his chin. “Is this what you wanted?”

Draco climbed onto her chest and hunkered down, purring and kneading. If that was his answer, he certainly seemed happy.

After a moment, Hermione reminded herself that he wasn't really a cat and almost batted him off her breasts, but she thought about what he had said about his human consciousness diminishing with time. He had certainly looked confused the morning Professor McGonagall had turned him back so she didn't think he was lying. With both hands, she scratched behind his ears and under his chin. He delighted in the touches, arching his head into her fingers and purring louder.

Hermione dozed off petting him. His little furry body was so warm and his purr was so sweet. She slept better than she had in weeks without Crookshanks. First thing the next morning, she undid the transformation and averted her eyes from his nudity. With a brief word of thanks, Draco dressed, climbed onto his broom, and left. She watched him go. Her heart was oddly tight in her chest and she wasn't sure exactly why.

Hermione had a hard time reconciling Draco—the spoiled rich boy who had tormented and bullied her for years—with this harried and forlorn youth who had been hovering outside her window after midnight, pleading for her to transfigure him into something cuddly and then pleading for her to cuddle him. Never in a million years had she expected to hear those words from Draco's lips.

…

Hermione wasn’t so daft as to think that would be the first and last time Draco came to her. She had caught him at her window before she had agreed to anything—she knew he wanted something from her. Now that she had given it to him, she figured he would come back for more, like a cat growing accustomed to being fed. However, when nearly one week went by without his return, she thought maybe she had misread the signs. Maybe had had only planned to come the one time? But then why would he have lurked outside her window for so long?

However, just after midnight, there was a rap on her window.

The sound roused Hermione from a light sleep. She shifted groggily out of bed, moved to the window, pushed aside the curtains, and found Draco hovering in the dark. The moonlight played eerily on his platinum hair, white skin, and pale eyes. He looked like he had seen a ghost—no, he looked like a ghost. She nudged open the window and shivered in the blast of cool air.

“Draco?” she mumbled, rubbing her hair out of her face.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Parvati nervously.

“I want you to transfigure me,” he added, “please.”

Hermione stepped aside, allowing Draco to float into her room and touch down gingerly. He looked less put-together than he had previously. He looked frenzied and haggard. His pale eyes were bloodshot, his lips were chapped, and his skin was sallow.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked gently.

“Fine,” he assured her and shoved his broom under her bed.

Hermione didn't push him, didn't ask any other questions, didn't say a word.

Somehow, her silence loosened Draco's tongue. “I had a nightmare,” he admitted.

Hermione didn't look surprised nor did she ask him what it was about. She merely nodded in understanding.

Draco found himself unspeakably grateful for that quiet acceptance. The last thing he wanted right now was someone's questions prodding at his hidden wounds. He spread his arms, opening himself to her.

“What would you like?” Hermione asked as she lifted her wand from the nightstand.

Draco's throat closed. The nightmare still hung off him like tattered bandages. Unbidden, his lips said, “Hold me tight.”

Hermione nodded. She looked pensive for a moment and then whispered the spell.

On the first try, Draco noticed, she changed him into a fluffy white Shiba Inu. He shook free of his clothes and jumped up onto her bed, patiently waiting for Hermione to nestle beneath the covers. Once she was comfortable, he lay down almost on top of her. Hermione wrapped her arms tight around his body, squeezing him close. She buried her face into the ruff of soft fur around his neck. Draco licked her ear, prying a little shiver from her that he barely took note of.

The dog's nose was sensitive, picking out the subtle aromas of Hermione's skin, hair, and clothes. Absently, he noted the faint musk of her sex, but pushed it aside. He licked her cheek, hoping she understood that he wanted to thank her for this. He felt the clinging dregs of the nightmare begin to fade. His heart stopped racing, he was able to draw in a deep breath, and the foul taste vanished from his mouth. He could only taste, smell, and feel Hermione. Her hand mapped a gentle path down his side and his belly. Her fingers dug through the thick white fur, nails rasping against his sensitive skin.

A little whine escaped him.

“It's okay,” Hermione whispered.

With his sensitive ears, he could practically hear the emotions in her voice. A shiver ran down his spine.

Draco burrowed deeper into Hermione's embrace, tucking his cold nose into her neck and under her hair. She stroked her hands down his back, teasing the soft fur between her fingers. She scratched behind his ears and stroked the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes and slept without nightmares.

Hermione felt the moment Draco fell asleep. His rigid body sagged, dissolving into Hermione's arms and bed. She hadn't realized how tense he really was. Gingerly, she rubbed his ear between her thumb and forefinger. Part of her had thought that Draco was here for something else despite his words, but the way he melted once she began petting him spoke the truth. He really was coming to her just for comfort.

…

Draco didn't come to Hermione's room every single night, but he did come at least twice a week, occasionally more depending on how he slept or didn't sleep. Hermione found herself looking forward to the nights he cuddled up to her. She slept better with something warm and soft in her arms. Transfiguring him was becoming easier and easier. She was starting to wonder if she might even be able to do it without her wand. Something like that was sure to impress Professor McGonagall.

Tonight, Hermione wasn't expecting Draco since there had been a late Quidditch game of Slytherin versus Gryffindor in the pouring rain. Harry and Draco had been at each other's throats for the duration of the game, streaking after the slippery Snitch. Hermione had watched with increased interest, casting a charm so she could see better through the gloom. As a result, she had seen Harry lose control of his sodden broom and crash sidelong into Draco. Harry had knocked himself off his broom and plummeted. Hermione's heart had immediately leaped into her throat, but Draco was faster than the referees. He roared after Harry and caught him only a few feet later. Draco had lowed Harry safely to the ground before taking off like a shot. Hermione had a feeling he was embarrassed that he had rescued Harry.

There was a rap on her window after two AM. Hermione sprang out of bed and tugged the window open with a small smile. It had stopped raining, but the humidity had left the air bitterly cold.

“Hi,” Draco greeted.

Hermione stepped aside and beckoned him in, shutting the window with a snap.

He drifted inside and touched down gently. As he dismounted his broom, he hissed in pain.

“What's the matter?” Hermione asked urgently. The moonlight didn’t allow her an easy view of him and she didn’t dare turn on the light for fear of waking Parvati. She found her wand and cast a tiny charm for light, giving off a glow so faint that she may as well have lit a candle.

“Nothing,” he said briskly and put away his broom. The shadows danced across his expression, veiling his emotions.

“It's not nothing,” Hermione murmured. Her hands flit around him, uncertain if it was alright to touch while he was in human form. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a little bruised,” Draco admitted. He hissed again as he straightened. “Your Golden Boy did a number on me.”

“Harry did?”

“His skull is as hard as a rock.”

Unable to help herself, Hermione picked at the edge of his pajama top and moved her wand closer. She saw the line of his ribs, the dark of spilled blood beneath his white flesh—

Draco’s voice was alarmingly loud. “Don’t touch—”

Hermione snapped her hand back and looked at him in surprise. She had never touched him when he wasn’t an animal of some kind. She had almost forgotten that he was a pureblood, a Slytherin, a Malfoy. So many things worked against this and she had forgotten. She had allowed herself to forget. She could almost hear the scorn already, but he did not call her a mudblood or any other derogatory name.

In fact, Draco choked on his words as though he had forgotten also. All at once, he sobered. He looked small and young, thin where his pajamas lay against his ribs and hips. He was barefoot, his hands naked, and his hair was rumpled. He lowered his voice and said gently, “It’s not… I meant, don’t touch me because it hurts.”

Hermione held her wand so that the faint light reflected in his eyes. She didn’t see any malice in his expression or pale grey eyes. She couldn’t quite make out what she was seeing in his face at all. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she offered, “Do you want me to heal it?”

Draco had gone stiff when she tried to touch him, but he let his breath out slowly with her offer. “No, it'll heal on its own.”

Parvati shifted slightly and Draco hunkered down. Hermione stared at her roommate until the girl stopped shifting and fell back to sleep. Her heart skipped a beat, but Parvati was quite the heavy sleeper and always slept reliably late. Every once in a while, Parvati even spent the night in the Ravenclaw dorms with her sister, Padma. Hermione wondered what it would be like to have Draco over on a night she had the room to herself. Maybe he would let her try to transfigure him without her wand. Maybe he would nearly yell at her again.

“Requests?” Hermione whispered.

Draco flashed her a thin crescent of a smile. “Don't squeeze me too hard,” he said softly. “I'm a little tender tonight.”

Hermione nodded. She doused the light from her wand and took a moment to collect her thoughts. Gracefully, she changed him into a ferret once again. She figured the weasel’s flexible spine and sturdy body would be good for his injuries. She watched as he melted out of his clothes and then emerged through the arm of his pajama shirt, looking up at her with a toothy ferret smile. She put her wand down and scooped him up gently. She climbed into bed, settled him on the pillow beside her cheek, and dozed off petting him.

…

The weeks continued much the same. Draco crept in and crept out. Transfiguring him became easier and easier. Hermione didn’t even need to speak the spell aloud, which was lovely because they didn’t have to worry about waking Parvati. However, Hermione kind of wished they didn’t have to worry so much. She wanted to talk to Draco. The little exchanges they managed each night made her want to know more about him.

Draco was whip-smart, had a very dry sense of humor, and some skeletons lurked in his closet. Something had to be bothering him, especially since he had been coming to her room more and more lately. She still couldn’t explain what he was doing in her room any way. He was Draco Malfoy and she was Hermione Granger. The fact that he came for cuddles and comfort never ceased to surprise her. She thought it had just been a crazy dream, but when she woke to her quiet alarm each morning, there was a white animal sleeping beside her. When she changed him back, he was always Draco.

“Hermione?” Parvati repeated loudly, startling Hermione from her thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Gods, you’re a space-case lately,” Parvati said.

Hermione tightened her grip on her book. “Sorry,” she said. “I was engrossed.”

Spying the title, Parvati looked doubtful but didn’t call Hermione out on it. “I was saying that I’m spending the night with Padma tomorrow, okay?”

Hermione’s heart skipped a little beat, flopping around between excitement and concern. “Alright,” she said evenly. “Have a good time.”

“Always do,” Parvati said. “Don’t stay up too late reading, Hermione.”

“I won’t,” Hermione promised.

Parvati burrowed beneath the blankets and flipped off her lamp.

Hermione sat up against the headboard for much longer, staring at the same page without absorbing a word. What would Draco do when he arrived—if he arrived tomorrow—and realized she had the room all to herself? Would he try to sleep with her? Would he want to talk? Would he want to go right to their usual method of snuggling and sleeping? Would he let her try to transfigure him wandlessly? Hermione shook herself. There was no guarantee he would even come tomorrow night. Unless… unless she somehow told him.

The thought burned beneath her skin wickedly.

Hermione snapped her book shut, jockeyed it onto her nightstand with the others, jerked the covers up to her chin, and tried to sleep, but it was surprisingly difficult without Draco’s furry little body curled up beside her. She woke in the morning at her usual time, alone. Parvati was snoring softly, dead to the world.

Hermione slipped out of bed, dressed, and made her way downstairs to the library. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. She spent twenty minutes folding the elaborate shape and then cast the simple charm to carry her message to the proper person. Tucking her wand and the folded message into her robe, she headed downstairs for breakfast.

Harry was already there and greeted her brightly.

“Where’s Ron?” Hermione asked.

“He had an incident,” was all Harry would say. “He’ll be down once he showers.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully and fixed herself a plate of breakfast. She surreptitiously watched the Slytherin table for Draco’s arrival and wasn’t disappointed when he dragged in with Pansy, Goyle, and Crabbe in tow. His grey eyes caught hers and it felt almost like a physical touch, dragging a shiver down her spine. She looked away quickly, before Harry noticed her reaction. Under the table, she removed the message from her pocket and let it slip from her fingers. Hopefully, the spell would work the way she planned since it was her first time trying it. She listened to Harry prattle and watched slyly for Draco’s reaction.

Draco didn’t have the energy to sneakily watch Hermione that morning. He was exhausted, woken by nightmares every hour, but he hadn’t allowed himself to go to her. He had just been there the night before and he didn’t want her to think that he couldn’t sleep without her—even though it was becoming true. Beneath the table, he felt a slight tug on his trousers and resisted the urge to lash out. Hermione had been looking at him. He wondered if she had something to do with the origami cat that slowly made its way up his leg and settled in his lap. He closed it hand over it and tried to catch her eye. However, she was distracted by Potter and he didn’t get a chance to let her know he received her missive.

As soon as he was alone, he unfolded the paper cat and read the two words she had written. They were simple and easily deniable.

‘Tonight, please?’

Draco didn’t know what charm she had used to send the message so he didn’t reply. When he caught her eye in Snape’s class later, he simply nodded once. A little smile touched her lips and he knew she had gotten his meaning. It was the first time she had expressly asked him to come to her room. His little brain hoped that she wanted to jump his bones, but his big brain hoped that she didn’t. He needed what they had—the wordless comfort, the soft touches, the lack of expectations. He could get sex from anyone, but he couldn’t get comfort from them.

Hermione was waiting with the window open and a blanket tight around her shoulders when he arrived. She stepped back to allow him inside and he landed gently.

He smiled nervously, uncertain. “You wanted to see me?”

Hermione blushed and tucked some wild hair behind her ear. “Well…”

Draco’s stomach flipped uncomfortably. Was she going to call this whole arrangement off?

“Parvati is spending the night with Padma in the Ravenclaw dorm,” Hermione forced out. “I just… I wanted to actually talk to you for once. We never get to talk because we have to be so quiet, but Parvati is out for the night and, I mean, if you wanted to talk to me, that is.”

Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Sure,” he interrupted because she seemed at risk of rambling on forever. “I’d like to talk to you too, actually.”

Hermione looked surprised and then she beamed. “Great!” She shut the window, sank down on her bed, and patted the space beside her.

Draco sat gingerly, his broom still clasped loosely in his fingers like a security blanket. “What did you want to talk about?”

Hermione regarded him for a moment. “Just… anything really,” she admitted. “I just want to know a little bit more about you, if you don’t mind sharing, that is.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully, but couldn’t bring himself to volunteer any information. The thought of sharing himself with Hermione, even after sleeping in her bed, was too daunting. What would she think of him, on his family? What would she want to know from the boy who had bullied her, from the boy who had pleaded to be transfigured, from the boy who kept coming back to her?

Hermione fiddled with her quilt. “Tell me something about Slytherin.”

Draco’s heart skipped a little beat. He had half-expected her to dive right in and ask him what he was doing here night after night. He had expected her to ask about his pureblood upbringing, about his expensive broom, about how the giant Quidditch bruise on his back was healing, about the lack of owls he received from his parents, about his allowance and his grades. However, her question was so simple that he stared at her for nearly a full minute with no idea what to say.

Hermione was simply looking at him, her brown eyes soaking up the moonlight. She looked perplexed by his silence. She hadn’t thought her question was that difficult or uncomfortable, but he looked floored.

“I’m afraid of snakes,” he blurted and then blanched. His palms broke out with sweat and the hair on the nape of his neck stiffened. What was he thinking, just confessing an embarrassing fear like that to her?

Hermione looked shocked both by his admittance and the contents. Then, she giggled behind her hand. “Really?” she asked.

Draco’s upper lip curled. He almost snarled at her. How dare she laugh at his fear? Then, he realized that she was smiling so softly and her eyes were sparkling. She wasn’t laughing at him—she was truly laughing with him. That was the first time Draco had ever really thought about that statement. The sneer on his face softened, chasing his insecurity with her mirth. “It’s true,” he said cautiously. “Crabbe has a pet python. I can’t even look at the blasted thing.”

Hermione snickered. “The Prince of Slytherin is frightened of snakes,” she remarked. “I never would have guessed.”

Draco glowered at her. “Enough of that,” he said. “You tell me one of your silly fears now.”

“I’m afraid of failing,” Hermione confessed quickly enough.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Please, everyone knows that about you already. Try again.”

Hermione adjusted her position on the bed.

Draco regarded her from the corner of his eye. At first, he thought she was making herself more comfortable or squirming as she thought of her fear. However, he found that she had turned more fully to face him and looked more serious. Despite himself, Draco sat up straight and focused on her.

“You don’t understand,” Hermione murmured. “The kind of things I’m embroiled in all the time by being friends with Harry…” She dragged a hand over her tired face. “People are going to die if we fail—if I fail. Cedric Diggory is already dead and there was nothing I could do. If Voldemort—”

Draco’s ribs tightened, making it difficult to draw breath and reminding him of the massive bruise on his back.

“If Voldemort comes to full power,” she continued, “we’re so screwed. We can’t fail. Failure is not an option.” She tightened her grip on her quilt until her knuckles turned white. “I wish I were afraid of snakes instead.”

Draco reach to touch her before he could stop himself. He started to cover her exposed hand with his own, hesitated, and laid it on her covered knee instead.

Hermione looked up at him and her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

“You can’t be afraid of snakes,” Draco told her, “because you’ll never be able to face You-Know-Who if you are.”

Hermione let out a watery little snort. Her body was so warm beneath his hand and he realized with a shiver that he was still chilled from his flight. Hermione noticed as well. She tugged a second quilt from the trunk at the foot of her bed and held it out to him. “Unless you’re tired of talking,” she said when he hesitated in taking it.

Draco accepted the blanket. “No,” he said as he pulled it tight around himself. It was soft and sweet, scented with her detergent and magic. “I think I’d like to talk a little longer.”

…

A few more weeks passed slowly and gently. Draco stopped by more often, almost every night. He always looked tired and pale, but Hermione didn’t press him about why. He nuzzled into her with increasing ferocity, as though frightened of more than snakes. She cradled him to her as a cat, a dog, a ferret, and petted him well into the night.

Then, suddenly, things happened too quickly. It became a wildfire raging out of control, a flood sweeping everything away, a snowstorm burying everything.

Hermione wasn’t there when Harry and Draco dueled. Hermione wasn’t there on the Astronomy Tower when Dumbledore died. Hermione wasn’t there for any of it. When Harry told her about it, shouting himself hoarse and sobbing, she couldn’t quite believe that Draco could be responsible for such atrocities. She, Harry, and Ron fled. They sought the horcruxes.

When the Grabbers caught up to them, she never expected to be taken to Malfoy Manor.

Bellatrix Lestrange danced into the room in her ragged black gown as though she was attending a funeral for a monster. She knew Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley on sight. What Hermione had done to Harry’s face would buy them time, but not much. The spell would wear off eventually or someone would get too close to him or someone would recognize his voice regardless. Bellatrix cackled, breaking Hermione from her downward spiral of anxieties.

Hermione forced herself to stand tall and face the crazed witch head on. Her heart was pounding, but she hoped her fear didn’t show on her face.

Bellatrix giggled, dipping down to stare Hermione uncomfortably close. “Potter’s little Golden Girl,” she remarked with a hiss. “Tell me where he is.”

Hermione remained silent. She wouldn't cave. She couldn't fail. She would give the witch nothing.

Bellatrix looked perplexed. Then, her red mouth split like a wound into a terrible grin. In a flash, she had whipped out her wand and the Cruciatus curse arced into Hermione’s body like lightning.

Hermione crumpled to her knees, screaming despite all the pretty words she had told herself beforehand. She felt as though her flesh was burning, peeling, cracking. Electricity volleyed through her, choking off her air, blackening her lungs. Freezing cold gripped her heart and speared behind her eyes. There were no words—there were not enough screams for the pain that overtook her. It felt like years had passed in those mere minutes. Had it been seconds… or centuries?

Bellatrix released the curse with a flourish, delighting in Hermione’s writhing gasping form. “Again, again,” she cackled and clapped her hands.

The curse returned.

When it passed, Hermione lay panting and sobbing. If felt as though her flesh was peeling free from her body, leaving her gasping like a fish ripped from the water. Her mouth tasted like blood and bile. Her vision swam, the pain closing her view of the world to the tip of Bellatrix's blood-colored wand. Then, midst the shadowy manor, she saw a smudge of whiteness.

Hermione turned her head slightly, nearly vomiting at the small motion. Her eyes felt as though they were going to pop out of her head, itching and burning with tears. Through the haze, she realized that Draco was standing there like a beacon in a storm. The side of his face was coated in shadow and his lower lip was split. Horror marked his features. He was looking desperately between his aunt, his mother, and his father.

Hermione wanted to beg him for help. He couldn't just stand there and watch, could he?

Draco caught her gaze. In a swift motion, he nodded once.

Hermione wasn't sure what she was supposed to garner from that. Again, the curse came. Bellatrix's laughter filled her mind, splintering through the agony. She screamed again, a howling cry of anguish that shook the rafters. Her spine curled, her toes locked, her muscles spasmed. Her teeth cut into her tongue.

When the curse faded, leaving Hermione whimpering and trembling, Bellatrix leaned over her. Her wild face filled Hermione's world. “Where is he?” she repeated.

Hermione couldn't answer—she wouldn't.

Bellatrix bent over her, the tip of her wand like a searing brand. When it touched Hermione's arm, it took a moment for the pain to reach her through the aftershock of the curse. The burning tip was carving into the delicate flesh of her inner arm. She smelled her skin melting. She screamed again, thrashing against Bellatrix's grasp to no avail.

“Expelliarmus!” Draco shouted.

Bellatrix's wand sparked from her hand and the pain stopped. She sat up, scanned her surroundings, and her eyes widened with surprise. “Draco?”

Hermione's ragged breath ripped from her lips. Desperately, she tried to roll away from Bellatrix.

Another spell flared, forcing Bellatrix backwards with a feral snarl. Something exploded and crashed. Dust clouded the parlor.

In an instant, Draco was at Hermione’s side. His arms circled her like a castle, tipping her back into his chest gently. He was warm—so warm, almost feverish. “Where are Potter and Weasel?” he gasped into her ear.

For a moment, she feared that he had come for his turn to torture her for information. She almost spat in his face.

Then, Bellatrix was back on her feet. She summoned her wand and pointed it at Draco with a snarl. “What are you doing? Turning traitor for that little snatch?”

“Hermione,” Draco began in a panicked voice.

Bellatrix blasted him in the chest.

Draco was flung from her, his body breaking against the polished marble floor with a crack.

There was a spell and the dust cleared instantly. Narcissa and Lucius closed in behind Bellatrix, wands at the ready. Lucius looked ferocious, his anger a burning flame, while Narcissa seemed merely disappointed. It was hard to read Bellatrix's face beneath her riot of dark curls. Hermione didn't particularly want to know what any of them were thinking.

Lucius stalked to Draco and pinned him with a crunch, his foot planted on Draco's chest. Draco scrabbled at his father’s boot, at the marble tile, but he couldn’t break free and his wand had been flung from his hand.

Bellatrix lashed Hermione with invisible rope, snaring her like a rabbit.

“Hermione!” Draco shouted. His voice echoed against the ceiling, high with pain and panic.

“You disappoint me, boy,” Lucius snarled and spoke the words of the curse.

Draco cried out in pain.

“Stop,” Hermione said to Bellatrix in an agonized whimper. Her arm burned, her body shook with aftershocks of torture, and she could barely breathe. “Please.”

Lucius bore down on Draco while Narcissa watched her son scream.

Bellatrix cackled and leered at the wandless girl at her feet.

Lucius released the vicious curse on Draco.

“Have you learned yet?” Narcissa asked coldly.

Draco moaned, his breath hissing between clenched teeth.

Hermione had always prided herself for her ability to think on her feet. It was the only thing she could think to try, as Draco lay for torture at the hands of his parents, as she was pinned for death by Bellatrix, as Harry and Ron were locked in the dungeon. She had always wondered if she could transfigure Draco wandlessly. It had become so easy for her in the past months. She could do it without a word, without a second thought, but... could she do it without her wand?

The curse ripped through Draco again. He screamed, but the sound was choked off as Lucius crushed him beneath his boot.

Hermione didn't give herself a chance to doubt. She wrenched her hand from Bellatrix’s invisible bonds. The wound on her arm tore and bled freely, but she ignored the rush of heat and slickness. She stretched out her hand, focusing on her memory of transfiguring him in the past. She could remember the feel of his skeleton, his muscles, his mind. She could do it. She could do it.

The sound of his scream broke her concentration.

Bellatrix cackled.

She could do—

A wall of fire rose from Draco's form. He shifted, bones cracking and stretching as he raged up into the form of a great white dragon. Lucius fell back, shrieking in terror. Shocked, Narcissa just ran. Bellatrix stood there, frozen at the sight. The dragon breathed fire until the whole room was ablaze. Bellatrix’s bonds vanished and Hermione rolled onto her hands and knees, coughing and crying. His smart grey eyes landed on Hermione and he bowed his great head to her, nudging her with his nose. She rested her bloody palm against his smooth scales, struggling to stand.

Ron and Harry skidded into the room.

Harry shouted, “Hermione!”

“Here!” she coughed. The dragon nudged her, but her limbs were too weak to support her. “I’m here!”

Easing her down with the light pinch of his lips on her jacket, the dragon lifted his head above the flames.

“Bloody hell,” Ron swore. “What the hell is that?!”

“No time,” came Luna's voice.

They materialized through the flames like angels pushing through a hellscape. Harry and Luna were quick to pull Hermione to her feet, supporting her with her arms over their shoulders. Luna felt smaller and thinner than Hermione remembered and Harry was trembling. Ron stared up at the dragon dubiously. All around them, Bellatrix and Lucius were beginning to fight the flames. The dragon lowered his head again and growled.

“Get on,” Hermione panted.

Only Luna didn't argue and dragged Hermione forward to the dragon's side. Harry followed after and Ron didn't have a choice. Together, they clambered onto the dragon's back. The great beast turned and blew out the side wall of the manor with a sweep of his spiked tail. Then, they were in the air. Hermione didn't have a chance to enjoy the flight. She blacked out.

…

When Hermione woke, it was raining and they were all tucked safely beneath the dragon’s wide white wing. Luna was slumped beside Hermione, nestled under Harry’s jacket with her back against the dragon’s steady side. She petted the soft scales absently, a sad dreamy expression on her face. Harry and Ron were crouched around a blazing fire, whispering. With a groan, Hermione worked herself into a sitting position. Her arm burned and her whole body ached from the torture. However, she was free—they were all free and Draco was…

She turned her head, looking up at the dragon. Intelligent grey eyes started back at her. Apparently dragons were far smarter than ferrets and dogs and most of his human consciousness appeared to remain. Draco lowered his large head and nuzzled her, breathing warmly all over her body. She scratched along his nose and whispered, “Thank you, thank you.”

“Hermione,” Luna said suddenly. “You’re awake. Are you alright?”

Harry and Ron snapped around and were quickly at her side.

Ron began to bombard her with overwhelming questions. “What did the Malfoys do to you? Where did this bloody the dragon come from? What happened? Are you hurt? Are you alright? Can I get you anything?”

Harry elbowed Ron and passed Hermione a small mug of water.

She took it with shaking fingers and sipped slowly. Her arm pulsed with pain and her stomach rolled at the memory. “I think I’m okay,” she murmured.

“We heard you screaming,” Harry whispered. He touched her hand gently, concern marking his face. He looked old—as though the events of the Malfoy Manor had aged him.

“Bellatrix tortured me,” Hermione said without preamble.

Harry sucked in air.

Ron gritted his teeth.

Gently, Luna touched her back.

Hermione allowed Luna to help her recline against the dragon’s side again. She let out a tremulous breath and looked down at her throbbing arm. In hideous jagged letters, Bellatrix had carved ‘Mudblood’ into her pale skin. Tears prickled Hermione’s eyes, unbidden. The mark shouldn’t have bothered her. At least she was still alive, but…

The dragon nosed her, his forked tongue flickering out.

Hermione put her hand to his scales and scratched gently.

Luna lifted her hand to do the same. “Who is this handsome fellow?” she asked innocently.

Ron was still looking at the dragon sidelong, but Harry didn’t seem concerned anymore. Hermione took a deep breath. All that was about to change drastically.

“It’s Draco,” she told them simply.

For a moment, everyone was silent.

Luna let out a soft, “Oh,” and continued scratching the white scales. Hermione wasn’t surprised that Luna wasn’t surprised.

Ron, however, was shocked enough for all of them. He jumped to his feet and shrieked, “What?!”

Harry got to his feet, a sly hand over the pocket of his pants where he kept his wand. “Hermione?”

“Sit down,” Hermione said tiredly. “Both of you. I’ll explain—actually, I really can’t explain anything.”

Harry knelt beside her again, ready to get back up at a moment’s notice.

Ron remained standing, staring at the dragon incredulously.

“Bellatrix was torturing me and Draco was there, of course,” Hermione said slowly. “He tried to intervene. His parents beat him down. I actually saw Lucius use the Cruciatus on him.”

“We heard him screaming too,” Harry agreed pensively.

Hermione nodded. “Bellatrix was going to back to torturing me and they were torturing Draco and I just… I transfigured him into a dragon to get us out of there.”

Ron gaped.

“How’d you do it?” Luna asked, rubbing under the dragon’s chin. “I didn’t think you had a wand with you.”

“I didn’t,” Hermione confessed.

Harry’s eyes widened.

“I did it wandlessly,” Hermione admitted.

Luna’s luminous eyes regarded Hermione with wonder. “That’s so difficult. You have to have a really good relationship with someone to do it.”

Ron turned on Hermione. “A good relationship!” he shouted.

Draco nosed him in the chest hard enough to knock Ron on his ass. Apparently pleased, he breathed a little ring of steam.

Hermione scratched at his cheek. “Be nice.” To Harry, she said, “Cast a charm to keep the rain off us and then let me see your wand. I’ll change him back.”

Harry did as she asked and passed over the stolen wand he had acquired in the Malfoy Manor. Hermione didn’t waste time peeling away the transfiguration charm. Silently, she prayed that the wandless magic hadn’t done any damage to him. Maybe they hadn’t been close enough—maybe her desperation had given her strength. Maybe she had crippled him when she changed him. However, the transfiguration came away easily. The dragon melted and shrank, giving way with a snapping pop into Draco’s nude human body. He looked confused for a few seconds as his vision adjusted and cleared. Then, his grey gaze locked on Hermione.

“Hi,” she started to say, sheepish. What if he hadn’t wanted to be transfigured? What if he had wanted to stay at the Malfoy home with his parents? “Draco, I—”

He fell on her, half-strangled and desperate. His strong arms circled her body, just as they had when he knocked Bellatrix away and came to her aid. He was warm, so warm, and she embraced him in return without thinking about it. Her hands slid along his bared flesh, but she couldn’t bring herself to care even as Ron let out a cry of alarm. Hermione absently realized that this was probably she first time she had touched him while he was human. So often, the barrier of his animal form was between them. Touching his human back, feeling his ribs and spine, felt so intimate that her toes curled.

Draco squeezed her tightly, his lips shaping out a whispered prayer of her name. He put a little space between them, enough that he could stroke back her tangled hair and see her face. He hesitated before he touched her face and she realized he thought about it too. She nodded slightly and he cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb along the bone of her jaw. His touch was gentle, light, and warm, even as the ball of his thumb touched her split lip. Hermione hoped her smile reflected how happy she really was, but it felt pinched and pained.

“Are you okay?” he breathed. His eyes landed on her forearm, carved with cruelty. “I’m so sorry. I tried to stop her.”

“I know,” Hermione said. She gripped his fingers tightly. “Thank you.”

Draco stared at her, his bared chest prickling with gooseflesh as the chill of the night soaked in to him.

From behind, Luna draped Harry’s borrowed coat over Draco’s shoulders. When he turned slightly to face her, startled by the weight, she smiled warmly and said, “Not that I don’t appreciate the view, but it’s quite cold.”

Draco had the grace to flush and pulled the coat tight around his hips. “Sorry,” he said. “Thanks.”

Harry knelt beside Draco, cleared his throat, and said, “Thank you for helping Hermione.”

Draco turned back towards her and lowered his hand to his side. “Don’t mention it.”

“We don’t have any clothes to spare,” Hermione said and shivered as the damp chill soaked into her bones. Without the dragon at her back, she was freezing. “We lost my bag when we got snatched.”

Draco shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Change me into something else, back into the dragon if you like. I’ll keep you warm.”

“You’ve gone barmy if you think I’m cuddling up to Malfoy for the night,” Ron snapped.

“Ronald,” Hermione said with a sigh. She was too tired to argue with him and her body ached all over. All she wanted was to snuggle up to something warm and fuzzy and sleep for a year. With Harry’s pilfered wand, she transfigured Draco into a truly massive white wolf, the size of some fairytale creature from old legends.

Luna made a sound of marvel and pushed her fingers through the soft fur.

Draco regarded them both with bright eyes and lay down between them. Hermione immediately lay down beside him, curling into his warm side and resting her face against the downy fur.

“Hermione, Draco, may I?” Luna asked.

Draco chuffed.

“Of course,” Hermione told Luna.

Without pause, Luna curled against Draco’s other side and let out a sigh of bliss.

Harry shrugged back into his jacket and lay down beside Luna, keeping the chill off her back.

Ron paced for a little before finally taking up position at Hermione’s back.

Hermione rested her cheek against Draco’s thick fur, her fingers curled into it to hold him close. He turned his head and rested it atop hers, breathing steadily. Hermione didn’t speak because she wasn’t sure he could understand, but she knew he understood when she snuggled even closer and pressed her lips to the smooth fur beneath his ear. The wolf nudged her with his nose. Hermione slept quickly and deeply. When she woke, she felt revitalized and ready to face the Dark Lord himself.

…

As they stood beneath the flying buttresses of Hogwarts’ great courtyard, facing the tide of Death Eaters with Voldemort at its head like a coiled viper, Hermione didn’t let herself think of failure. Harry stood just a little in front of them, not as a leader but as a shield. Ron stood to her left, Draco to her right. Luna and Neville stood at her back, the students and professors of Hogwarts stacked behind them.

“Ready?” Hermione said from the corner of her mouth.

Draco smirked a wicked flash of white teeth. “Do it.”

They had spent a few days researching and practicing, but this was the moment of truth. It might have been Harry’s destiny to face Voldemort, but Draco was about to make his fate a whole lot easier. Hermione didn’t really need her wand, but she used it anyway—they couldn’t take any unnecessary risks now. Draco stripped off his favorite black jacket and tossed it to Ron. He sacrificed the rest of his clothes as the transfiguration rippled through him. He roared for effect, breathing great plumes of fire all over the Death Eaters as he beat his wings into the cloudy sky.

Hermione laughed—actually laughed—when she saw the look on Voldemort’s face.

…

After their triumph over Voldemort, Ron went home to the Burrow. Hermione and Harry were both invited of course, but Draco was not. Hermione knew Molly and Arthur would welcome Draco with open arms if she merely asked, but she wasn’t sure anyone was ready for the conversations that would bring up. Exhausted, Harry went along with Ron. Hermione didn’t grudge him. She would have gone to her family as well—if her parents had any idea who she even was. Someone would start reversing her spell as soon as possible, but there were graves to be dug and a world to be mended. Hermione was not the Ministry’s priority, not that she could really grudge them that either.

So, Hermione stayed at Hogwarts while everyone else either went home or went to the next closest thing. Lots of friends took in friends and Hermione had no shortage of offers for sanctuary, but she was content to remain at the school. She had missed her room, missed the library, missed her books and classes and professors. She didn’t grudge staying at Hogwarts.

In the wake of the battle, the Death Eater’s stunning loss, and the death of the Dark Lord, Hermione had half-expected Draco to leave with everyone else. His parents were missing, after all, and she had assumed he would at least want to start searching for them. However, he stood beside her when Harry and Ron left.

“Aren’t you going?” Hermione asked, lowering her waving hand once her friends had disappeared from her line of sight.

“Going where?” he repeated.

Hermione regarded him silently. She had a feeling that he liked how she never demanded answers from him. She remained quiet and without judgment, just like a pet.

Draco sighed. “If you were me, would you want to see them?”

Hermione hugged herself, shuddering as she recalled the dark manor and the tortures visited upon her there. Her mudblood scar still ached. “Maybe,” she said pensively. “If they were my parents…”

Draco shook his head. “I watched them torture and kill my friends. Then, my own father tortured me for standing up for what was right. I don’t know if I ever want to see them again.”

Hermione’s fingertips grazed his wrist. She still wasn’t sure if she should touch him while he was human.

Draco kept no holds barred, however. At the light touch, he turned his palm and squeezed her hand tightly in his own. “Let go out,” he said. “Let’s do something fun.”

Hermione smiled. “Hogsmeade is close.”

Draco had recovered his wand after the battle. He apparated them immediately.

Hermione stumbled when they landed, but Draco’s hold kept her on her feet. A snapping winter wind gusted up the cliffs and whipped Hermione’s hair into her face. Taming it, she regarded him a little crankily, “You could have warned me. I don’t even have a coat.”

Unperturbed, Draco tugged her close against his side as the wind bit into them. For the cold-blooded heir of Slytherin, he certainly radiated heat. Hermione shamelessly cuddled into him. It felt like second nature to be so close. How many nights had she (and Luna) spent snuggled into him for warmth?

“Better,” she relented.

Draco led her along the path until they reached the cobbled main street. Even once they were there and people could see them, Draco still didn’t let go of her. Part of Hermione was surprised, but part of her wasn’t. She had learned many things about Draco since he started coming to her bedroom at night. She was even beginning to learn that he was undeniably sweet, which she noticed when he took the time to check up on Luna after the battle.

After a moment, Hermione realized that he was leading her to Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. The garish pink building stood out sharply against the more tasteful shops surrounding it. Hermione pulled up short, shivering when Draco’s arm slipped from her shoulders. “Madam Puddifoot’s?” she inquired.

Draco stilled. It took him a moment to face her. His expression was cautiously blank, grey eyes picking over her visage carefully and giving nothing of his own thoughts away.

“That’s where everyone goes on dates,” Hermione told him. Her palms were slick with sweat despite the chill and she wiped them against her skirt. “Draco?”

“Would that be so wrong?” he asked carefully.

She tilted her head, confused.

Draco squared off his shoulders. Somehow, he looked more nervous now than the moment before she had turned him into a dragon to face Voldemort. “Would it be so terrible if I wanted to take you on a date?”

Hermione’s mouth went dry. “A date?” she sputtered.

Draco’s expression warred between annoyed and heartbroken—the arrogant Malfoy at odds with the boy who had been coming to her room for affection, with the young man who took torture to save her, with the dragon-hearted man who stood beside her against the Dark Lord. “Right,” he bit out, but his voice was too brittle to be caustic. “Forget it.”

“Wait, wait.” Hermione grabbed on to his arm and tugged him close. She burrowed into his body heat and his arms came around her automatically. “I didn’t say that, Draco.”

As always, his name broke through whatever walls he had put up between them. He looked down at her, unabashedly hopeful.

“I’d love to go on a date with you, just not at Madam Puddifoot’s,” she said with a giggle. “I think Hog’s Head is a little more our speed.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to face Aberforth,” he admitted.

“The Three Broomsticks then,” Hermione said shortly.

Draco flashed a little smile at her, relieved.

Hermione hooked her arm through his and they walked together to the glowing pub.

Madam Rosmerta greeted them warmly. “You poor dears, where are your coats? It’s freezing outside!”

Draco looked abashed, but Hermione only laughed.

“Here, come, sit by the fire,” she said and ushered them to a booth near the roaring hearth. “Can I get you something to warm your bones? Hot chocolate maybe?”

Hermione nodded.

After an instant of hesitation, Draco agreed.

Madam Rosmerta bustled off, muttering to herself. It was probably something along the lines of shock that such children had defeated the Dark Lord, but couldn’t remember to bring a coat when it was about to snow.

Hermione sank into the booth across from Draco, relishing the heat of the fire as it soaked into her bones. Madam Rosmerta returned with the steaming cocoa and Hermione gratefully wrapped her hands around it. Draco did the same, a little shudder going through him as his icy hands warmed.

“Something to eat?” Madam Rosmerta asked.

Hermione ordered the house stew in a bread bowl. It was her personal favorite dish from The Three Broomsticks.

Draco hesitated again and then ordered the same.

After Madam Rosmerta departed to fetch their dinner, Draco began to fidget with his mug. He opened and shut his mouth a few times. Hermione smiled into her drink. She had never seen him look so uncertain. She wondered what was bothering him all the sudden. Maybe he was nervous—what would his parents think of the pureblood heir out on a date with a muggle-born witch? Would Draco even care for their opinion anymore? The thought sobered her and it showed on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked hastily.

“Nothing,” Hermione said.

He stretched his hand across the table, covering her fingers with his own. His skin was soft and warm from the cocoa.

“Just thinking,” she admitted, “about your parents.”

Again, Draco looked uneasy. “Why?”

Hermione stared down at his hand, white against her tanned and battered skin. “What do you think they would think of this?”

Draco squeezed her hand. “I don’t care what they think,” he told her tersely. “I don’t care what anyone thinks.” He regarded her, his grey eyes unreadable. Finally, he asked, “Do you care, Hermione?”

Startled, she could only stare at him. Did she care? What did everyone think of her relationship with Draco? She knew Ron was having a hard time adjusting to the mere thought of her being friends with a former Death Eater. She could only imagine how the news would balloon out of control once it hit the tabloids. The Golden Trio’s Brightest Witch and the Death Eater. People would certainly talk about it, but did she care…?

The play of emotions on her face must have troubled Draco because he slowly withdrew his hand, unsettled.

Hermione quickly snatched his hand back, nearly toppling her mug. “No, no,” she said finally. “I don’t care. I… I’m happy to be here with you.”

Draco smiled and it illuminated his face. His grey eyes sparkled and danced.

Madam Rosmerta came with their dinner and settled the bowls between them. “Enjoy.”

Though loathe to let go of Draco’s hand, Hermione dug in with gusto. After a moment, he did the same. It reminded Hermione so much of that night that Parvati had been at the Ravenclaw dorms, when they stayed up late talking about anything and everything. Draco was good company, good conversation. He was expressive, smiling and laughing freely. Hermione didn’t think she had ever seen him so open or honest, expect maybe when he was an animal curled in her bed. His fingers walked along her wrist, carding over the soft scar on her forearm.

When they finished dinner, they ordered dessert. Hermione told Draco about her parents and he confessed that he had received a letter of apology from his mother. He hadn’t answered it. Hermione found herself squeezing his hand, touching his wrists where his veins threaded like silver beneath his white skin, and feeling his pulse with the pads of her fingers. She wanted to kiss him. His eyes, darkened to molten argent in the firelight, reflected back at her. If the table hadn’t been between them, she wondered what would have happened—right there in The Three Broomsticks.

As it was, Madam Rosmerta clapped her hands. “Alright, you two,” she said, “it’s closing time. Go on back to Hogwarts.”

Draco didn’t let go of Hermione’s hand. He led her outside into the snowy night and apparated them back to the school courtyard. The cold breeze whipped at them so they hastened inside before the warmth was sucked out of them. Standing in the Great Hall, with lighted candles hanging above them, Hermione held his hands as she faced him.

“Come to my room?” she asked.

Draco nodded.

It was odd to walk through the halls with his hand clenched in hers. Then again, everyone had gone home and there were only the lively portraits to comment on their relationship. Most of them chose not to, even when Hermione let him into the girl’s dorm and showed him the way upstairs. Parvati was gone, as were Lavender and Faye. Hermione had the dorm to herself. Such a thing set a little fire in her stomach, a creeping flame that burned like an ember between her legs, especially once Draco began removing his jacket and button-down oxford.

Shirtless, he turned to face her. The marks of Harry’s sectumsempra were faded but still visible on his pale flesh. Hermione itched to run her fingers, her lips, along those marks. She thought about going lower, kneeling before him, taking him in her mouth and hands. If Draco knew what she was thinking, he hid it well.

“What would you like tonight?” he asked instead.

Hermione startled from her lusty thoughts. She pulled her wand from her pocket and fingered the firm wood. “I think… the Dire Wolf,” she said. “I liked that.”

“Whatever you like,” Draco murmured. His voice was deep and rough, promising more—or so she thought.

Before she could act on any of those thoughts, she transfigured him into her favorite massive white wolf. He shook off his trousers and circled her, rubbing his face along her thighs. Too late, it occurred to Hermione that such a sensitive nose would clearly be able to smell her arousal. She could have kicked herself. Hopefully, he wouldn’t remember what he had scented when she turned him back in the morning. She changed into her pajamas and climbed into bed, patting the mattress beside her. He leaped into the bed and laid down practically atop her. Hermione dug her fingers into the thick fur and hugged him tight. He licked her cheek, nuzzling close.

Hermione had half-expected his presence to keep her up with hungry thoughts, but she fell asleep quickly. Having Draco in her arms was so comforting that her mind immediately doused its worrisome thoughts like a lantern being blown out. It had been like that even in the middle of the dark forest and in the aftershock of battle. Scratching between the wolf’s ears, she buried her face against his ruff and dreamed of a man with platinum hair and soulful animal eyes.

…

Hermione woke in the morning to golden sunlight streaming through her open frothy curtains. The wolf still slumbered beside her, his chest rising and falling peacefully. Without rolling for her wand, she easily peeled the transfiguration away from Draco. She watched as his paws shaped into long limbs, his spine lengthened and curved, his face formed out of the wolf’s handsome snout. He didn’t wake, even when the transformation finished. Naked and oh-so human, he lay beside her in her bed with one arm draped over her torso. Her own hand rested against his chest and along his hip. She could feel his steady heartbeat. He twitched faintly, as though dreaming of running.

A bundle of nervousness touched her heart, but she steeled herself. He had made his intentions clear yesterday and laid as much of himself as he could on the table for her to look over and decide upon. The ball was in her court now, so to speak. Looking down at his sleeping face, Hermione already knew what she wanted.

She cupped his jaw, stroking her thumb along the fine stubble forming. Her touch was light but persistent, rousing him from his dream in layers. He shifted and a little groan escaped his lips. She saw his lids flutter, eyes moving beneath them as he stirred. Tucking an errant curl behind her ear, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the edge of his mouth.

Draco responded easily, opening his mouth for her access. She nibbled his lower lip, pressing her teeth with the hopes he would not think he was still dreaming. His tongue snaked out, carded against her lower lip, and retreated. She deepened the kiss, pressing him into the pillows. Then, she pulled away.

Hermione sat back, resting her weight on one hand, and watched him come to full wakefulness.

Draco's grey eyes opened slowly, caught the morning sun, shut again, and then reopened with a blink. Dreamily, he smiled up at her. “Good morning,” he said softly. “Am I dreaming?”

“Are you?” Hermione asked tentatively. It was the last out, a moment for him to say yes, to realize this thing they had was a mistake. He was a pureblood and she was muggle-born.

Sensing her anxiety, Draco sat up. He cupped her neck, threaded his fingers through her tangled hair, and tugged her closer. His kiss was firmer than hers had been. It was a hungry thing, but also certain. He delved into her with a ferocity not unlike a mountain lion devouring its dinner. Then, the gnash of teeth faded. He kissed her gently, slowly, tasting her lips, breathing in her air.

Hermione's fingers curled against his naked chest.

Drawing back slightly, his breath coming shallow between them, Draco looked down at himself. He didn't yelp—he was too confident in his body for that. However, he did look up at her with surprise. He grinned, just a little, because he was a teenage boy. “Why, Miss Granger...”

Hermione flushed before he could even finish his sentence. “Stop!”

Draco fell silent, regarding her thoughtfully. “I could get dressed,” he offered.

She shook her head, jostling her wild hair. “No, I mean, not if you don't want to.” Her hand was still resting against his bared chest and she made no move to remove it.

Draco covered her fingers. “You don't have to do anything you don't want to,” he repeated. “I can get dressed and nothing will change for me.”

Hermione let out a shuddering little breath.

“I'm in too deep,” he confessed. “I can't sleep as well without you, you know. I'll never be able to leave you so you take all the time in the world and I'll still be here.” He lifted her knuckles to brush his throat. “You may as well get me a collar with your name on it, Hermione. I'm yours.”

His words had the intended affect.

She laughed softly and then smiled so brightly that it lit up the world. “Draco,” she began.

He didn't let her finish. He kissed her again, slipping his tongue into her mouth to swallow up her confession. He liked the taste already. Lying on his side in the narrow bed, facing her, didn't give much room to maneuver. Hermione hooked her leg over his hip and he grasped her ass, tugging her flush against his growing hardness. She whimpered and pressed down curiously. Then, it was his turn to groan as she rubbed her soft cotton pajamas against his sensitive skin.

She broke the kiss and sat up enough to pull him under her. Draco cradled her hipbones, his thumbs resting over the waistband of her shorts. Hermione gazed down at him, her eyes bright as she memorized the fall of his pale hair and the flickers of scars on his chest. Then, she leaned down to kiss him again, grinding down on his erection. She liked the way he gasped into her. It made her feel powerful and wanted. Her thighs were unbearably warm beneath her cotton panties.

Draco's hands snaked up beneath her tank top, feeling along her back and pressing into her muscles. She felt his calluses and shuddered at the roughness on her sensitive back. She squirmed, only succeeding in pressing more of her core against him. He groaned again, working his thumbs into her neck until she threw back her head in bliss. He leaned up to nip the exposed column of her throat and she yelped in surprise, pinning him flat to the bed with both hands on his chest.

He chuckled.

“You startled me,” she said.

“I can see that.”

She dipped down and kissed him again. This time, she abandoned his mouth to press her teeth into his neck. He tilted his head to the side to allow her whatever she wanted and groaned as her blunt teeth nibbled the junction at his neck and shoulder. When she sucked his pulse, he almost cried out her name in an embarrassing way. He pushed her back and turned the tables by quickly peeling off her tank top.

A flash of nerves lit up her face and she almost covered herself. He let her, watching carefully, but she stopped at the last second and lowered her hands to her sides. Her full breasts rose as she breathed, nipples pebbling in the slight chill of her bedroom. Draco stretched his hands slowly, bringing them to trace the edges of her breasts. She shuddered, the skin beyond sensitive to the slight scrape of his nails, especially when he raked his fingertips over her nipples.

“Draco,” she gasped.

He pinched both nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, rolled them, and tugged them.

Her back arched, pressing into his hands, with a breathy sigh.

In return, she raked her fingertips down his exposed chest, delighting as his stomach muscles contracted and a little giggle escaped his lips.

“Are you ticklish?” she asked.

“Of course not.”

But the way he squirmed beneath her gave him away.

Breathless, he batted her hands away. “I yield,” he gasped. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

Hermione smiled and pressed a kiss to the middle of his chest. Her tickling hair was almost worse than her torturous fingers. “Anything?”

Draco gasped as her tongue laved the places her hair touched. Though each time she moved, her hair just tickled a new place on his chest and her tongue followed. It was a vicious cycle—one that he couldn't be sure he wanted to see end. He arched beneath her, his hips rutting against the searing heat between her thighs. He wished that last barrier was gone, but he let her take it at her own pace. After a few more moments of torment, he was not disappointed.

Hermione sat up and then rose from the bed completely. He almost protested, but was instead captivated by the sight of her sliding off first her shorts and then her knickers. Completely bare, golden in the light of the morning sun, she looked like a goddess. She took her wand and cast a quick charm, first on herself and then on him for contraception. Setting magic aside, she turned to face him. Again, she had a moment where she looked as though she wanted to hide. However, the undisguised want on his face chased her doubts.

Hermione climbed back onto the bed and swung her leg over him again, settling down with his hardness trapped between them. She was soaking wet and so hot. Draco whined, gripping her hips again to anchor himself in the maelstrom of sensations swirling between them. He was no virgin by any stretch of the physical sense. However, this was his first time making love to someone he truly cared for. Hermione rocked against him, her lids fluttering with pleasure.

“Hermione,” he breathed out.

She looked down at him, her eyes half-lidded and her lips parted.

“Are you...?”

She simply smiled and kissed him.

Then, she took his erection and angled it upwards. She lowered her hips, sinking onto him so slowly that he almost begged. He felt her muscles fluttering and clenching, milking him and adjusting to the intrusion. She didn't appear to be in pain, but then she was so wet and hot. He had no doubts that she had wanted this ever since she peeled the transfiguration off him. That thought just made him harder and she let out a little gasp as he filled her to the brim.

“Are you alright?” he asked breathlessly.

Her breasts heaved, bounced, as she settled herself. She rolled her hips experimentally, feeling him out the same way she would feel out a new spell. “Glorious,” she told him.

Draco held her hips as she began to move. She set a steady pace, her thighs glistening with sweat as she rode him. He anchored her at a point and then began to meet her thrust for thrust. She moaned, throwing her head back in a banner or riotous curls. It was all Draco could do not to pin her underneath him and take over. He steadied himself, memorizing the bend of her body and the fall of her hair. He adjusted his grip so that one thumb rested over her clit. With each thrust, he rubbed a circle—faster and faster.

A keening moan began to spiral out of Hermione. She bucked and squirmed as the sensations overwhelmed her. The orgasm rocked her, crashing over her like an ocean wave. Her muscles tightened into a vice and a new wave of wetness wrapped around his length. Draco groaned and basked in the almost-violent landslide of pleasure the overcame him. Hermione felt him twitch inside her and tightened her muscles further, riding out the aftershocks of both their orgasms.

Exhausted and satiated, she collapsed against his chest. Her hair clung to his face and got in her eyes. It took him a moment to tame it. Then, with a sigh, he rested his cheek on her head.

“That was,” Hermione murmured, “amazing.”

Draco tucked his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up for another kiss.

Hermione sighed into his mouth, tasting the sweat on his skin. “We should get up,” she said finally.

“We don't have to,” Draco said. “We could stay here all day. Everyone else left, remember? It's just us and a few teachers.”

Lost in her passion, Hermione had forgotten about the battle. She sat up and looked down at Draco's face. He was flushed and yet smiling wider than she had ever seen. He looked beautiful. It felt like so long ago that he had been lurking at her window. So many things had happened since then.

“Something wrong?” he asked, brushing some hair over her shoulder.

She shook her head. “No, nothing,” she assured him.

Slipping his fingers into the silk of her hair, he tugged her down for another kiss.

Hermione settled against him, brushing her fingers along his jaw and throat. His pulse was steady. “Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Why did you come to my room and ask me to transfigure you?”

Draco hesitated only a second before admitting, “I just wanted to be loved.”

Hermione sat up and looked into his open honest face. His grey eyes sparkled, danced and glittered with emotion. Softly, she said to him, “I love you.”

Draco smiled and it was like the spread of pure white wings. It lit up the room. Hermione was drawn to him like a bird rising to sing at dawn. She stretched out her hand, sliding her fingers along his cheek and into his soft messy hair. He turned his chin and placed a tender kiss to the inside of her wrist, right over her pulse, right into her heart.

XXX

“Every true love and friendship is a story of unexpected transformation. If we are the same person before and after we loved, that means we haven't loved enough.” ―Elif Shafak

Questions, comments, concerns?

As always, I take requests for all my Lemon Series. Recently, I decided to mark them all as 'Complete' because each chapter in and of itself is a complete one-shot. [I know I personally only read completed works, so I wanted people like me to know that these are all technically complete, even though I'm always up to add a chapter.]


	2. The Yule Ball

**Summary:** When Ron acts like a tosser at the Yule Ball, Hermione enacts some revenge of the sweetest kind.

 **Tags:** revenge sex, blow job, cunnilingus

XXX

The Yule Ball was well underway. Draco Malfoy hadn't expected to have fun and had hidden a flask full of expensive liquor pilfered from his father inside the pocket of his tailored suit. However, he was surprised to find that he was genuinely enjoying himself. The music and food were amazingly good. His date was a sweetheart from Beauxbatons but had left early with several other visiting students in her year. He had expected to be bored once she left, but found that he was amuzed to watch the other couples meltdown. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley had just started a spectacular row and Draco watched with a half-hidden smirk, sipping his punch.

Ron's voice was a petulant whine, nearly lost beneath the music, “He's using you.” He walked briskly, trying to escape the wrath he already knew was coming.

“How dare you!” Hermione's voice rose in fervor and pitch. “Besides, I can take care of myself.”

Ron scoffed, “Doubt it.” A little louder, like he thought he was winning this argument or like he thought he had a point, he insisted, “He's way too old.”

“What?” Hermione demanded. She strode after him, her heels catching on the uneven stone floor. “That's what you think?”

Ron didn't stop walking, not even to face her when she stumbled on the rug. “Yeah,” he ground out. “That's what I think.”

“You know the solution then, don't you?” Hermione asked his back. The crack in her voice gave away the tears that she choked back. “Next time there's a ball, pluck up the courage to ask me before somebody else does and not as a last resort.”

Ron stopped and faced her, but wouldn't meet her eyes. His cheeks were flushed red. “Well, no, see—that's just completely off the point,” he sputtered. 

Hermione's eyes glittered.

Behind her, drawing Ron's attention, Harry materialized silently from the darkness. He looked troubled—the pressure of being one of the contestants chosen from the Goblet of Fire surely weighing on him—but Hermione didn't ask what was wrong. Ron didn't really give her a chance to. 

With Harry at his side, Ron quickly sought support. “Girls get scary when they get older, huh?” he asked flippantly.

Harry's eyes widened as he took in the expression on Hermione's face. 

She drew herself up, sniffling back the tears that desperately wanted to fall. “Ron, you spoil everything!”

Ron fled like a coward.

Harry glanced between them, but Hermione turned sharply away. Instead, he followed Ron and vanished. 

Draco chuckled to himself and took a sip of his punch. Absently, he wondered where Hermione's date, Viktor Krum, had gone off to. Maybe he was mobbed by people wanting an autograph, Quidditch star that he was in addition to being a contestant like Harry. Draco tipped his shoulder against the wall, mindlessly scanning the crowd for the next episode of his personal soap opera. 

Hermione pushed past him in a waft of floral scent, sniffling audibly. 

Draco watched her flee down the hallway, her beautiful dress fluttering behind her. The song changed to a slow one and he watched all the remaining couples pair off. No one looked about to do anything even as remotely interesting as the fight between Ron and Hermione. Draco went to take another sip of his punch, but found his cup empty. With a sigh, missing his date, he headed down the hallway to the room where the refreshments were arranged. He refilled his cup, stepped out into the hallway again, and finally gave in to the urge to tip some liquor into his cup. 

Down the darkened hallway, he could hear crying. Bored with the ball, Draco absently followed the sounds until he found himself standing at the top of a flight of stairs. Hermione was slumped at the bottom, her shoes abandoned beside her. She had her arms wrapped around her knees, head dipped into her folded arms, and her exposed back trembled with sobs. Draco lingered just long enough to assure himself that she hadn't fallen down the stone steps and was really crying over Weasley before turning to leave. 

The scuff of his shoes on the stone attracted her attention though.

Hermione's head snapped around and she wiped her face with both hands. When she saw him through her tears, she tried to pull herself together and jerked to her feet. “Come to laugh at me?” she demanded.

“Just passing by,” Draco said. To prove it, he turned away.

“Wait,” Hermione called after him.

Draco hesitated. 

“You... you're—” Hermione tried and then blurted, “Do you have alcohol?” 

Draco eyed her, but he doubted she was fishing to get him into trouble. By the look of her, she needed a drink after the fight she had just had with her best friend. Draco tipped his cup in her direction with a nod.

From the bottom of the stairs, Hermione imperiously held out her hand. 

Draco huffed but walked down the steps towards her regardless.

Hermione snatched his cup, drained the contents, and handed it back to him. For a moment, she looked pleased, but then dissolved into a fit of coughing. Her cheeks flushed with the liquor and her red-rimmed eyes flickered over him. Draco knew he cut an impressive figure in his professionally-made black suit. 

“What?” he asked when she didn't say anything for a long time, just continued to stare at him.

Hermione snapped out of whatever trance she was in. Sucking in a deep breath, she stepped into his space, hesitated only a moment, and then threw her arms around his neck. Draco tried to pull away, but the smell of her perfume and the heat of her body surrounded him. She crashed her lips to his and Draco could immediately taste the alcohol he had shared with her.

“What are you—?” he gasped when she pulled away for air.

Hermione glowered at him. “You're right behind me in all our classes. Figure it out.”

Draco thought immediately of the fight he had just witnessed. 

Hermione lifted her chin and kissed him again, teasing his mouth open with the tip of her tongue. She pressed her body against him, the satin of her dress leaving nothing to the imagination when he ran his hands down her sides. He tugged her closer, tipping his chin to deepen the kiss. His tongue slipped along hers and he sucked her lower lip into his mouth. She moaned, unabashed, and he was surprised that she was so vocal. She dug her hands into his back and clawed at his shoulders. 

Draco hefted her into his arms, letting her wrap her legs around his hips, and walked her backwards until they were around the corner and safely out of sight of anyone who might happen to wander away from the ball. He pressed her against the stone wall, slipping his mouth from hers to trail down her neck. She whimpered when he pressed his teeth into her jugular and then sucked hard. She dug one hand into his hair, mussing the perfectly-gelled locks into curls. Her bare feet dug into his back. 

“Mmm, Draco,” Hermione moaned. 

He licked into her open mouth. “What?”

“Put me down.”

He loosened his grip on her and she slid down his body like a serpent. She would have done well in Slytherin, Draco thought. She opened his trousers deftly and freed his throbbing erection. For a moment, she hesitated and glanced up at him with a question in her eyes. She licked her lips to wet them. Reading the nervousness in her eyes, Draco threaded his fingers into the loose curls that draped over her shoulder and tugged her forward. He guided her, helping her set an easy pace.

Hermione had read plenty of trashy bodice-rippers. She had an idea of what she should do, but it was surprisingly more difficult than she had imagined. Draco's cock was larger than she had been expecting and difficult to take into her mouth while keeping her teeth from touching it. She was grateful for the steady pressure of Draco's hand in her hair, giving her something else to focus on besides the slightly-bitter taste. She licked along the underside and sucked the tip. Her teeth scraped the throbbing vein and Draco hissed.

“Sorry,” she said hastily.

“It's fine, it's good,” Draco gasped. His fingernails gently scraped her scalp. “I like a little teeth. Just don't actually bite me.”

Encouraged by this knowledge, Hermione filed it away and dove forth with greater fervor. She bobbed her head, gobbling Draco's shaft a little deeper with each pass. A few times, she worried that she'd gag and gave herself a little space to swallow. Though she worried Draco would grow impatient, he continued the guiding caress on her head and became more vocal. He gasped and moaned increasingly and Hermione felt his hips shiver under her hands. He twitched and his fingers tightened in her hair to the point of pain. 

“Hermione,” he groaned. “I'm going to—” 

Steeling herself, she swallowed as much as she could. His cock twitched and his hips bucked mightily under her palms. 

Draco moaned loudly, gripping her hair.

Hermione tasted bitter salt for an instant before she swallowed and drew slowly away. She blinked up at Draco, a nervous smile on her lips. 

“Fantastic,” Draco praised her breathlessly. “Was that your first time?”

Hermione nodded. 

“You have promise,” Draco told her with a grin. “Up. Come up.”

Hermione took his offered hands and let him pull her up his body. 

“Your turn,” he said delightedly. 

Hermione blushed clear from her cheeks to the tops of her breasts. 

“First time? You're in good hands, don't worry.” Draco spun her around like they were dancing until her back was too the wall again. She gasped, staring into his glittering grey eyes. He lifted the frothy skirt of her gown and tucked himself underneath it as though hiding.

Hermione gasped when she felt his hot breath on her thighs. “Draco,” she protested nervously. 

“Don't worry,” he said from beneath her dress. “I've got you. Lift up.” He tapped the outside of her thigh until she lifted it over his shoulder. 

Draco pressed a wet open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh and then licked a strip along the seam where her leg met her very core. 

Hermione had never felt anything like it and he hadn't even reached her center yet. A full body tremor wracked her and she moaned, “Draco, please.”

He chuckled into the crease of her folds and the vibrations shivered up her spine. Draco kept one hand on her thigh and used the other to tug her panties to the side. His breath gusted over her soaking exposed core and it was all Hermione could to to prevent herself from clenching her legs around his head. Pressing a kiss to her folds in greeting, Draco dove in to her very center. He licked a broad stripe over the whole of her sex and then found her clit. He nibbled it, just the barest hint of teeth that made Hermione's spine turn to water. 

Draco pressed his fingers into her, opening her up for his tongue. With the tips of his fingers, he curled and scraped against her g-spot and then lapped it with his tongue. She vibrated with need, clutching at his head through her skirt. Draco left his fingers pumping inside her and focused the attention of his lips and tongue on her clit. Hermione jerked against his mouth, whimpering in earnest as he sucked her little pearl between his lips and rubbed it firmly against his teeth. She bit back a desperate scream as her first partnered orgasm washed through her. 

Hermione's bones and muscles turned to jelly. It was all she could do to stay on her feet. If not for her leg hitched over Draco's shoulder and the wall at her back, she certainly would have fallen flat on her face. Draco held her thigh firmly as she rode out the aftershocks. He licked her gently, letting her enjoy every last wave as he muscles fluttered and clenched around his long fingers. She was so wet, so hot inside. He wanted to dive right back in and bring her to the peak until she forgot her own name. 

However, he restrained himself and untangled himself from her skirt when he thought she could stand on her own.

Hermione gazed at him, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted with pleasure. Her breasts heaved over the low neck of her dress. “Draco, that was...”

“We're just getting started,” Draco said with a wicked grin.

Hermione's exposed skin broke out with goosebumps. A quick glance down Draco's body revealed that he was hard again. She couldn't help the grin of excitement that crossed her lips. Draco wiped the remains of her juices from his mouth with the back of his hand and pulled her firmly to his chest. His grey eyes searched her face before settling on her mouth. Hermione hesitated before kissing him deeply, tasting herself while knowing he could taste himself in her mouth as well. Breathless, she broke from his kiss. 

Draco spun her again, pulling her so that her back was pressed flush to his chest. He pressed a hand between her breasts and encouraged her to bend at the waist. She rested her hands on the stone wall and spread her legs slightly so that he could stand between them. Draco hitched her skirt up over her hips and tucked it into the waistband of her panties to keep it up. He pressed his mouth to her exposed shoulders, nibbling the junction of her neck and then breathing hotly in her ear.

“Can you hold this position?” Draco whispered.

Hermione nodded. 

Draco nudged her feet a little further apart and then unzipped the back of her dress. Freeing his cock again, he removed his wand and tapped a quick spell of protection onto himself and then her. Hermione wiggled against him, her thighs quivering as she rose onto her toes to be even with his groin. Draco aligned himself teasingly with her entrance.

“Ready?” he asked.

In answer, Hermione shifted her hips backwards. His cock breached her slowly, spreading her muscles and finally seating fully in the depths of her core. Hermione groaned, pressing her forehead into the cool stone. She had never felt something so big, so deep, so perfect. Her entire body broke out with shudders and goosebumps of pleasure. For his part, Draco soaked up the velvet glove of her passage and bit the side of her neck to muffle his own cries of bliss. 

“Oh,” Hermione moaned. “Draco, oh.”

Draco slipped his hands into the open back of her dress and coiled his hands around her ribcage. He cupped her breasts and rasped his thumbs over her nipples. After a moment, he pinched them between his fingers and tugged lightly. Hermione gasped, the pain and pleasure mingling as he pulled out nearly all the way and then thrust back into her fully. Her breath exploded from her lips and she folded against the wall, legs trembling to support herself as he began to thrust in earnest.

Draco's hands left her breasts and she felt cold with the loss. However, she only had a moment to miss his touch before he settled one hand on her hip to hold her in place and the other over her clit. His thumb had a callus on it from Quidditch and set a fire in her belly, especially when he set a blinding pace with his hips. It was all she could do to gasp out his name, gripping the wall for support. Draco stroked her clit until her entire body seized in his arms. Then, clutching her tight to his chest, he allowed himself to cum. 

Hermione moaned lowly as he emptied himself inside her.

Draco slipped out just as her legs gave way. Hermione slid to her knees, but Draco tugged her upright. She sagged against him, clinging to his shoulders, breathing shakily.

“That was great,” she breathed.

Draco dipped his head and kissed her, sliding his tongue into her mouth. “It was,” he agreed.

“Maybe... we can do it again sometime?” she asked cautiously.

Draco didn't agree right away. He studied her, the fall of her curly hair, the way her dress had slid down her shoulders, the way her naked breasts heaved as she breathed. “I'd like that,” he confessed finally. “After all, the Tri-Wizard Tournament is about cooperation between schools. Why not make it about cooperation between houses?”

Hermione smiled at him.

Draco helped her stand and raised the zipper on her gown. Hermione smoothed her hair and then his rumpled suit jacket. She felt his flask tucked inside the inner pocket. Meeting his eyes, she grinned as she fetched it out and took a shot. Draco took a sip himself and then stowed the flask back into his pocket. Then, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her back upstairs to the remains of the ball. There was a slow song playing again and he towed her onto the floor with him.

Hermione melted into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin. Draco held her in his arms and met the eyes of everyone who stared at them. He couldn't wait to see the look on Ron's face tomorrow morning once the rumors had started flying. Hermione tipped her chin so that she could look into his face and she smiled in a way that said she was thinking the same thing.

…

Ron and Harry were already seated at the Gryffindor table in their usual places when Hermione floated down the next morning. A magnificent hickey had developed on the side of her throat where Draco had pressed his mouth and teeth. There was no denying exactly what she had been up to after her friends left the ball the night before.

Ron's eyes widened comically. “Did Viktor do that?” 

Harry searched Hermione's face with concern. “Hermione, whatever happened last night, you wanted it, right? Nobody... pressured you, right?”

Hermione squeezed Harry's shoulder in gratitude. At least he had his priorities straight. “Nobody pressured me,” she assured him as she slipped onto the bench beside him and started making up a plate with breakfast. “I wanted it, believe me.”

Ron demanded, “Who—?” 

“Morning,” Draco greeted. 

Ron's lip curled with distaste.

For his part, Harry looked confused, especially when Draco smiled brightly at Hermione.

“Good morning,” Hermione greeted in return. 

Draco held Ron's gaze as he bent down to press a possessive kiss to the hickey on Hermione's neck. She shivered beneath the touch, goosebumps breaking out all over her arms and exposed thighs. There was no mistaking the meaning behind Draco's kiss or the look in his eyes. 

“Sorry about that,” Draco said to Hermione. “I could put a spell on it, if you want.”

“It's fine,” Hermione told him. “It'll heal on its own.”

Draco smiled winningly, dropped a fleeting kiss on her lips, and sidled off to his own table.

Ron sputtered helplessly.

Harry made up his plate and said conversationally, “So, I guess you had a nice time at the dance after all.”

Hermione just smiled.

XXX

It snowed like mad here today—so mad that my job was closed so I watched a bunch of movies between shoveling the driveway. When I set out to write this, I was really envisioning some hate sex, but the longer I worked on it, the more this turned out to be revenge sex. [I guess that's because I dislike Ron-and-Hermione-together more than I was trying to keep Draco in character.] I still like it.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	3. The Wolf

**Summary:** When Hermione hit a werewolf with her car, she thought it was the worst thing she could have done. However, it turned out to be the best.

 **Tags:** hurt/comfort, knotting, long tongue

XXX

Though it had rained all day, the night was clear. Hermione drove slowly with all her windows open, letting the wind blow in and push the unruly hair away from her face. The air was scented with rain and rich soil, the road and trees glittered with dewdrops, and the tires made a soft sound on the pavement. With her hands wrapped loosely around the wheel and her favorite playlist droning quietly, Hermione enjoyed the night. After everything she had been through, she deserved a break. With a sigh, she turned the music up slightly and stretched one hand out the window to feel the cool breeze against her palm.

Unburdened by clouds, the full moon was beautiful and lit up the forest all around Hermione as she drove. The headlights cut through the remaining murk, illuminating fleeting images of damp bushes and mile markers. Hermione knew this road very well as she drove it whenever she needed a break from her life. At the top of the winding mountain road, there was a lovely park with a spectacular view of the city below. She liked to sit there, thinking of everything and nothing at once. If she didn't look too closely, she could often imagine that Hogwarts was out there on the horizon.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Just the name was enough to bring a darkness to her thoughts, though she wished it wouldn't. Her years at school had been wonderful and it was unfortunate that someone like Voldemort had tainted her memories. She skipped the sad song that had started playing low in the background and bobbed her head to the faster beat that followed. She cupped her palm out the window, feeling the wind resistance as she drove a little faster. God, she loved her car. She felt the same way about driving as Harry did about flying on his broomstick.

She loved to drive, especially at night when the moon was full and—

Something streaked through the headlights an instant too late for her to react. It bounced off her fender and went shrieking into the thick foliage alongside the road. Hermione slammed on the brakes, the car fishtailing slightly on the wet road, and quickly pulled over. She punched on her hazards and took a moment to compose herself.

She wasn't sure what she had hit. It could have been an animal. It hadn't looked like a person. Either way, she had to do what she could to help. Shakily, she rummaged through her purse for her wand and then stepped out of the car.

“Lumos,” she mumbled. A warm glow spread from the tip of her wand, glittering on the wet leaves and road. She coaxed it to blaze like a flashlight.

Hermione circled to the front of her car and took in the sight of the crumpled fender. The damage was mostly cosmetic and she knew her car would drive just fine. However, the long smudge of bright blood that streaked the silvery steel made her heart skip. Turning away from her car, she headed back down the road a few feet to the site of the actual collision. The high grass had been bent and crushed, more blood splattering among the wetness. In the dark woods, she could hear something whimpering.

Hermione took a deep breath and waded into the foliage. She pushed sodden branches aside, keeping her wand in front of her for light and just in case she needed a spell to protect herself. She knew wounded animals could be dangerous to even seasoned hunters and veterinarians. Picking her way along the bloody trail, her feet slipping and sliding in the mud, she finally found the injured beast. Her breath hitched and she thought immediately of her days at Hogwarts, more specifically page three-hundred and ninety-four. She could almost hear Professor Snape's voice demanding an essay.

What lay crumpled in the wet grass was assuredly a werewolf. She remembered all too well the face of Professor Remus Lupin as it cracked and changed under the thrall of the hideous curse. The morphed wolf-face with the too-human eyes, the sharp teeth and thin lips, the pale hairless flesh, the lines of exposed ribs and spine. Those eyes still haunted her, as she had once seen Lupin looking out from the cage of the monster's cursed body. The werewolf shrank from the light of her wand, its lip pulling back to show its teeth as it snarled lowly.

This werewolf—having been hit by her car—didn't really look capable of attacking, but Hermione wasn’t taking any chances. She knew better. A werewolf, without its human mind, would attack and kill even its best friend without knowing better. Upon waking in human form the next morning, Hermione couldn’t imagine the grief of knowing what the curse had made it do. She didn’t want to risk anything unnecessarily. There was still a human being underneath that curse, even if she didn’t know whom.

The beast lay on its side in the mud and grass, long limbs curled tight around it. A massive gash ran along its side and another wound slashed across its upper thigh. Blood streamed freely from the fresh wound on its side. The tear on its leg looked older and was caked with mud. Hermione didn't think it had been caused by the accident and crept cautiously closer. The werewolf growled, but it was a choked weak sound. It scrabbled at the wet soil with its claws, rending up the earth as easily at it would shred flesh.

Hermione lifted her wand, letting the light fall more thoroughly on the werewolf's splayed body. Its upper lip curled, showings its sharp teeth, and growled again. However, Hermione had forgotten all her fear of the beast. Instead, she felt pity and horror. Around the werewolf's forelimb, there was a revolting metal trap. Hermione thought she saw the glint of bone sticking up through those jagged silver teeth. The werewolf shrank away from her, curling itself up as small as it could at the base of the tree. She didn’t dare crouch down, just in case the beast found the strength to attack.

Suddenly, the werewolf perked up. Its ears swiveled and then it struggled to its feet. Blood poured from its side and it staggered with the weight and damage caused by the trap.

Hermione scrambled out of its way, every fiber of her being on high alert. What had the werewolf heard that had spooked it into moving in this state? A greater predator or the scent of prey? It didn’t look in any condition to hunt and something—or someone—had harmed it greatly with that trap. Did muggles hunt werewolves or was it a wizard hunter? She cast a charm to allow her to listen to her surroundings and strained to hear what the beast had heard.

For a moment, all her enhanced hearing could pick up was the werewolf’s panicked heartbeat and breath. Then, in the distance, she heard voices. She didn't know who was hunting the werewolf or why, but there was a person underneath the wolf's curse and she couldn't allow this to go on. The werewolf hadn't made it very far before it stumbled on the uneven soil and yelped mournfully. It paused, clawing and biting at the metal trap to no avail.

Without hesitation, Hermione cast a spell to knock it unconscious and then levitated its unresisting body back to her car. She eased the beast magically into the backseat and shut the door quietly. Once she was behind the wheel again, she cast another spell to muzzle and shackle the werewolf. After what she had seen with Lupin, she knew better than to take chances no matter how docile or injured the beast was.

Slowly, so as not to draw attention to herself, she turned the car around and drove directly home.

After the war, Hermione had been offered a high-paying job at the Ministry of Magic and since her parents were still missing, she had taken it. However, she saved most of that money and instead rented a humble apartment in an old redbrick building in the Muggle world. It wasn't much to look at, but it was affordable and had window access from the fire escape. Rather than risk her neighbors asking questions or trying to charm the werewolf invisible, she levitated the unconscious beast up the creaking metal steps and in through her open window.

Once she had the werewolf inside, she cast a charm to keep any noise from disturbing her neighbors, closed all the drapes, and set to work.

The werewolf was already recovering from the spell that had rendered it unconscious. Those odd human-like eyes chilled Hermione as it stared at her, lifting its lip to growl.

“Don't worry,” she soothed. “I'm a friend. I just want to help you and we'll get this all sorted in the morning, okay?”

The werewolf continued to growl and watch her with its bright eyes.

She knew it didn’t understand her words, but she hoped the timbre of her voice would calm it. She cast another charm to restrain it, anchoring all but its injured forelimb to the floor. Blood continued to drip freely from the wound in its side, but the painful metal trap was taking priority. The werewolf growled and struggled against the bonds, its claws raking the old hardwood floor and knocking over the coffee table with a crash. Hermione ducked into the bathroom for clean towels and antiseptic. When she returned, she found the werewolf watching her warily. It looked exhausted and defeated, but managed another threatening growl when she crouched by its injured paw.

Hermione let it see her hands and wand. She folded a towel and wedged it into the maw of the trap. The werewolf snapped at her, snarling, but the sound was more pained than dangerous. She hushed it, hoping her voice was soothing, and cast another charm to hold its body to the floor so it couldn’t bite her. She used an expanding charm to grow the towel until it forced the trap open wide enough that the werewolf could free its paw. It whimpered, drawing the limb close and licking it gingerly. Hermione could see bone sticking up from the crushed joint. Her chest tightened at the sight.

She had learned many healing spells back when she, Harry, and Ron were on the run from Voldemort. They were difficult enough to use on a person, but she had no idea what they would do to a werewolf. She could cripple the person underneath the curse without intending to. However, she knew that when the werewolf’s transformation ended, many of the injuries healed to the point that the curse-bearing human could survive whatever the werewolf had been through. All she had to do was stabilize the werewolf to get it through the night.

Taking a towel from the pile, she transformed it into a self-winding bandage and inched nearer.

The werewolf regarded her, growling, drawing its wounded limb protectively inwards.

“Hey, hey,” she said gently. “Just let me help.”

The werewolf didn’t budge.

Hermione let the crushed joint go for now and turned her attention to the two massive wounds on its upper leg and side. The one on its leg looked as though it had been incurred around the time it had been caught in the trap. It was filthy, caked with mud and matted with briars. Hermione tapped the antiseptic bottle and set it to cleaning the wound on its own. Immediately, the werewolf howled in pain and thrashed, ripping at all of the floor it could reach. Its eyes locked on Hermione and it snarled, snapping at her as the source of its pain. Hermione felt bad, but knew it would be better for the human once the werewolf transformed back.

Defeated, unable to reach her or break its bonds, the werewolf lay flat on the floor and whimpered mournfully as the spelled medicine cleaned the wound out. Hermione then cast a charm to secure a clean towel over the weeping injury. Then, she did the same to the wound in its side. Since that one had been caused by her car, it was significantly cleaner, but the werewolf still didn’t thank her for casting the charm to disinfect the wound with stinging antiseptic. Hermione floated a towel over from a safe distance and sealed it against the long slash. Then, she turned her attention back to the werewolf’s smashed forelimb.

The werewolf regarded her mournfully, those too-human eyes peering out of a beast’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said to it gently. “But you’ll thank me in the morning.”

She secured the werewolf with a few more spells and then dragged the injured limb away from its protection. The beast howled and shrieked, thrashing wildly against her magic. Hermione was thankful that she had cast a silencing charm. She didn’t really want to know how quickly every single one of her neighbors could call the police and report a murder taking place in her apartment. As quickly and gently as possible, Hermione used magic to clean the injury, press the shattered bones back into place, and then wrap the entire mess in the bandage she had created. Finished, she released the werewolf’s paw and it dragged it back, growling deep in its chest.

“Sorry,” Hermione told it again, “but it’s in your best interest.”

The werewolf didn’t look like it believed her or even understood. Watching her with baleful eyes, it tucked its paw close and lowered its head. It curled tightly into a ball, like a kicked dog trying to make a small target of itself, and watched Hermione suspiciously as she moved around her apartment. She didn’t loosen any of the magical bonds. Now that the werewolf was free of the trap, she didn’t want it to try to attack her. Instead, she righted all her furniture and then made herself comfortable with a book in an overstuffed chair where she could watch the werewolf until the sun came up.

The werewolf stared at her, bright eyes focused on her without blinking. It growled and chuffed each time she so much as shifted position in her chair. She turned to page three-hundred and ninety-four and refreshed her memory of everything she had learned in third year and from Professor Lupin. Around five AM, Hermione creaked out of her seat and draped a throw blanket over the werewolf’s hairless body so that the human could cover itself as soon as the curse peeled away. Then, she resettled in her chair.

The werewolf looked frankly ridiculous under the fuzzy purple throw and Hermione chuckled to herself.

The beast growled at her, eyes narrowed.

Hermione opened her book again and reread the notes she had jotted years ago. She did miss Professor Lupin and even Professor Snape. A few tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked them hastily away, rubbing her face. The werewolf scented the salt of her tears and perked up to look at her, licking its lips as though it smelled prey. Hermione ignored it and continued reading. It was almost dawn. Once the werewolf reverted to its human form, she could begin sorting this out. All she had to do was stay awake for a few more hours…

Despite herself, Hermione fell into a light doze with the book still cradled in her hands.

As a result, she missed the first moment of sunrise and the cracking transformation of the werewolf into its human body.

Draco Malfoy came back to himself in pieces. He was aware first of only pain and shackles. He couldn’t move, his side blazed with heat, and his wrist felt as though it had been snapped in two. He mourned the loss of the werewolf’s enhanced senses and inhaled the faint scent of parchment and fresh flowers. A soft warm blanket had been draped over his body. Uneasily, he opened his eyes. The last thing he remembered was being chased through the forest, fleeing hunters, and stepping into that godforsaken metal trap. It must have been dosed with or made from silver because after that, everything was poisonously fuzzy.

Groaning, he tried to shift to get a better look at his surroundings. He was lying on the hardwood floor of what appeared to be someone’s living room. He could just see a small kitchenette and dining table if he managed to turn his head. All around him were piles of books. The floor had been ruined, probably by him if the size of the claw marks were anything to go by. Medical supplies lay out a few feet away. Considering the pain coursing through him, he wondered if he had been dissected or if his wounds had been treated? However, the hideous trap lay beyond them and he assumed the latter.

He tried again to shift free of the magical shackles, but to no avail. Each limb, his hips and chest, his neck and head, had been individually anchored to the floor—all save his madly aching wrist which had been bandaged and left free. Someone powerful had captured him. A little knot of worry took up root in his chest, throbbing there in time with his heartbeat. However, even plagued with the werewolf’s curse, he was still the heir to the Malfoy fortune. He doubted he would just be killed or traded like so many others. He was worth more alive and unspoiled—at least, he hoped he was.

From somewhere to his left, he heard someone shift and inhale. It was the sounds of waking and he breathed deeply, wishing he could scent the person who had captured him. Were they friend or foe?

There was a gasp and he heard a book snap shut.

Immediately, he felt the magical chains vanish. He wanted to jump to his feet and run, but his limbs were numb and his body ached from a combination of lying contorted on the floor and his injuries. Instead, he laboriously got his knees underneath him and managed to sit up. His bare back connected with a soft sofa and he slouched gratefully against it for support. Directly across from him, the coffee table between them, in an overstuffed armchair was Hermione Granger.

The sight of her—clothes rumpled from sleep, hair windblown and wild, eyes wide and mouth open in a little oh of shock—would have been comical if it wasn’t so bizarre. How in the hell had he come to be with her? Maybe the silver trap had poisoned his mind, maybe he was dead, maybe the hunters had caught and drugged him out of his skull, maybe…

“Malfoy?” Hermione asked in a whisper.

His gaze lurched back to her puzzled face.

“You’re a werewolf?”

Draco bit back the urge to snap, ‘Obviously.’ He was still injured despite reverting his transformation and he was naked in an unfamiliar place. It wouldn’t do to antagonize his unlikely rescuer—if she was his rescuer, though he doubted Potter’s Golden Girl was the type to sell a lycanthrope on the black market. “Yeah,” he said instead.

“H-how long?” she asked.

Draco didn’t want to share that information. Instead, he turned a question on her, “Where did you find me?”

Hermione got to her feet and stretched minutely. She made her way quickly from the room.

Draco’s skin crawled. He struggled to turn and follow her with his eyes. What was she doing?

A moment later, she returned with a fluffy purple bathrobe and offered it to him. Her cheeks were bright pink and he had a feeling it didn’t have anything to do with his state of undress.

“Where did you find me?” he repeated, taking the robe. It smelled sweet, even to his human nose. He didn’t want to put it on, but he figured he would look more ridiculous with only a fuzzy blanket clutched to his chest.

“I, um,” Hermione sputtered. She busied herself picking up the medical supplies and kicking the trap out of sight. “I hit you with my car.”

Draco stared at her for several heartbeats, unable to tell if she was joking. He certainly felt like he had been hit by a car, but… “Why did you do that?”

Her entire face flamed. “I didn’t do it on purpose,” she near-shouted. “I was out for a drive. It was late. You just darted out into the road.”

“I was running for my life,” he snapped at her.

She sobered and nudged the trap further under her overstuffed chair. “Who was chasing you?”

“Hunters, poachers, people out to make a quick buck, dark wizards, whatever. I didn’t stop to ask,” Draco said coldly.

Hermione’s throat flashed as she swallowed. “Why?”

Draco scoffed, tugging the robe shut over his chest with one hand. His wrist felt seriously sprained, if not completely broken. He flexed his fingers but winced. “Haven’t you heard? Lycanthropes are lower than garbage, hated maybe more than You-Know-Who, and lately there’s a reward for our capture.”

“Reward for capture?” she repeated.

Draco’s eyes shot to her face. He wasn’t in any condition to fight or run so he wouldn’t be able to get away if Hermione liked the sound of that. However, she looked disgusted by the news and his heart stopped pounding a ragged tattoo against his ribs. Gingerly, he poked at his wrist and hissed between clenched teeth. “Yeah. Our organs fetch a high price,” he muttered, “or so I’ve heard.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. She dropped to her knees alongside him. “Let me take a look at that. I didn’t want to risk trying to heal you last night. I didn’t know what the spells would do to a werewolf.”

It took Draco a moment to fight aside his instinct not to let her touch something so painful. The werewolf’s tendencies were still forefront in his mind. Finally, he stretched out his hand and watched her closely for signs of treachery.

Hermione pulled off the too-loose bandage that she had wound around the wolf’s paw the night before. She tapped her wand gently along his wrist, deciphering if it was crushed, fractured, or sprained. After a few light taps that none the less raced a jolt down Draco’s frayed nerves, she let out a quiet breath. “It isn’t broken. There are a few small hairline fractures. I’ll wrap it up for you, but you should see a real doctor. It’s been too long since I needed to use healing spells and I don’t want anything to go wrong.” She conjured a second bandage and wrapped his wrist deftly so that it was immobilized.

“Your leg?” she asked when she finished.

Draco hesitated again. Then, he tugged the blanket off his lap, arranged the bathrobe, and bared the hideous gash on his upper thigh. The bandage she had applied to the werewolf was too loose on his human body and she tugged the soiled towel away. The wound looked worlds better than it had last night. What had been a gaping jagged slash filled with mud had healed to a mere scratch that didn’t even need stitches.

“Your side?” she ventured.

Here, Draco hesitated further, but Hermione had yet to show interest in harming him. Besides, the pain lancing from his ribs was hot and bright. He tugged the robe down his shoulder with his good hand and opened the belt enough to expose the curve of his side. The large wound where he had bounced off her car was nothing more than a hideous dark bruise now. Hermione still gasped at the painful sight of it. She used the tip of her wand to tap along it, but his ribs weren’t broken and his internal organs appeared fine.

“Sorry,” she said. “I tried to stop.”

Draco pulled the robe shut across his torso with a hiss. “Not your fault,” he said. His eyes darted to where the trap was shoved out of sight. “Besides, if you hadn’t come along, I’d probably be dead or worse.”

Hermione didn’t ask him why there was something worse than dead. She was smart and had already drawn her own conclusions.

“Well,” Draco said and levered himself up onto the couch. From there, it was easier to get to his feet. “Thanks for the hospitality. I’ll get out of your hair now,” he said. “Send me the bill if you need repairs to your car.”

Hermione just watching him go, unable to protest or find reason for him to stay.

Taking her robe to cover himself, Draco stepped into the hallway—outside of her wards—and apparated to wherever it was he needed to go.

…

The very next day at the Ministry of Magic, Hermione set aside her usual work with the Rights of House Elves and looked into the current situation for werewolves. She had always known that things weren’t great for them, like many who were cursed, but it seemed to have worsened since she had known Professor Lupin. The Wolfsbane potion was incredibly expensive and difficult to brew. People feared werewolves even in their human forms and it was near impossible for them to hold down good jobs. Most of them lived in extreme poverty, never marrying or having children.

Draco’s words bothered her terribly. Regardless of the curse, they were still human beings. How could people hunt them for their organs, for dark magic ingredients, or even for sport? Hermione had found countless reports of suspected werewolves being assaulted. She suspected more assaults and worse things done to werewolves went unreported to prevent attracting undue attention to themselves. She had to do something, but she didn’t know what.

She let her breath out and pinched the bridge of her nose, unsettled.

With a jolt, Hermione sat up straight and slapped her cheeks firmly with both hands.

When she had started her campaign to free the house elves, everyone had thought she was crazy. The few people who did support her thought it could never be done, that it was just a dream, that there was no place to start fixing things. Hermione had already accomplished what everyone thought was impossible.

What was one more impossible task, especially for Hermione Granger, war hero and one-third of the Golden Trio, Victor over Voldemort?

What she needed was someone with an inside opinion and a direct line to heart of the problem.

What she needed was Draco Malfoy, reformed Death Eater and werewolf.

Hermione scribbled out a note hastily, marched down the corridor to the owlery, and sent her missive off before she could lose her nerve. She doubted Draco would fight her since he had a personal stake in the rights of werewolves. What she did doubt was her own ability to play nice with him.

However, she found herself thinking of that night she had hit him with her car, of those human eyes staring out of a beast’s face, of the silver trap nearly breaking his wrist, of the way he snapped that he had been running for his life. She didn’t want to see that expression on anyone’s face ever again.

…

It was impossible to apparate directly into Hermione’s office, but Draco did the next best thing he could think of. He traveled there by floo powder, marched irritably through the many corridors, and crashed open her door without knocking. The door smashed into the wall behind it and Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked up sharply, her eyes dark and irate, and Draco smirked to have gotten her so easily. However, in the next moment, her anger had passed and she smiled at him.

“Draco,” she greeted brightly. “Thanks for coming.”

Draco slammed the door behind him and demanded at a volume just below screaming, “You want me to what?”

Hermione shuffled all her papers to busy her hands. “Let me explain.”

Draco dropped into one of the plush chairs on the other side of her desk and leaned forward to glower at her. “Well?”

“I need a face for my next campaign,” Hermione said quickly before Draco could change his mind and go back to shouting.

“Your campaign for werewolf rights,” Draco repeated incredulously and shook the handwritten note he had received in her face.

Hermione wasn't sure what he was so shocked by—her sudden interest in werewolf rights or her desire to have him as the face of it. Either way, she forged ahead. “Exactly. When I set out to free the house elves, I used Dobby so that people would sympathize with the cause.”

Draco's expression darkened with sorrow but quickly morphed back to annoyance. “House elves were subjugated. Werewolves are loathed,” he said impatiently. “Every werewolf I know is underground, hiding. No one is going to want to out themselves and be subjected to prosecution, hate-crimes, and poverty.”

“Exactly,” Hermione said and devoted her attention to him.

His grey eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean? That you don’t care if I’m subjected to that?”

Hastily, Hermione put up her hands and assured him, “No, it’s not that. Believe me. It’s just… you're the only werewolf I know.”

Draco folded his arms. “You're supposed to be smart, Hermione. The only reason you know I'm a werewolf is because you hit me with your car.”

“I said I was sorry,” she said firmly. “Come on, Draco. Don't you want things to improve for werewolves?”

“Sure I do, but what you're suggesting is impossible,” he said. “No, it's worse than impossible. It's suicide.”

Hermione studied him, her dark eyes picking out details of his face. She thought of the night she had hit him, his paw crushed in a silver trap, pursued by persons unknown. She hadn't asked what would have happened if they caught him. Part of her didn't really want to know. Instead, she told him, “You'll be under my protection.”

Draco snorted.

“Think about it,” Hermione chastised. “You'll be safer in the public eye than you otherwise would. Bad people will know about you, yes, but good people will too. Look at my work with the house elves. I have no doubts that we'll succeed.” She smiled at him, her speech carefully planned. “And I will personally set up wards around your apartment.”

“The apartment I won't be able to afford once I come out as a werewolf and get fired,” he told her curtly. “You realize the Malfoy family fortune was all redistributed after the war. With the werewolf’s curse, I struggle to keep the job I have. Once they know the truth, which they already suspect, it’s over.”

Hermione's smile faltered.

“How long did it take you to get the rights for house elves approved?” Draco said slowly. “How long do you think it'll take for you to get werewolf rights approved?”

She bit her lower lip, looking as though she wanted to reassure him but was uncertain how to do so.

Draco slid the note across her desk. “It would, of course, be great if everything goes as smoothly as you seem to think it will, but... Dobby was dead when you used him as the face of your campaign. I'm a former Death Eater and a werewolf. People aren't going to rally behind that, Hermione, not the way they did for Dobby.” His sleeve had ridden up when he pushed the missive towards her.

Hermione's eyes strayed to the scar she could see around his wrist where the silver trap had bitten into his flesh. She wondered if the wounds on his thigh and side had healed the same way. She wanted to reach for him, to try to explain that everything would be fine, but... he was right. Dobby had been dead. Draco was still alive and people despised werewolves almost as much as Death Eaters. He would be in danger and there was one night each month that he would be unable to protect himself.

“Just,” she murmured, “please think about it. I can't do it without you.”

Draco breathed out heavily, raked a hand through his hair, and then shook his head. Wordlessly, he left.

…

A full month passed after that. The night was cool and clear, the stars twinkling and the full moon glowing like a smile. Hermione sat on the fire escape outside her apartment, legs swinging into the void below and steaming cup of tea in her hand. She wondered what Draco was doing tonight. She had looked into the results of his trial and found that while much of his parents’ fortune had been donated, there was still a substantial bit left to Draco. She had a feeling that he could afford the Wolfsbane potion, which would keep his human mind intact during transformation, but that didn't necessarily ensure his safety. Those people were still out there, hunting him—all because he had been bitten.

Curiously, Hermione wondered who had bitten him and when. She knew werewolves had been with Voldemort during the final battle, but she didn't think Draco had been involved in the fighting. Regardless, the battle hadn’t occurred on a full moon so it wouldn’t have mattered. She sipped her tea but didn't really taste it.

She had been working on her campaign, but hadn't been able to make much progress without an insider to the werewolves. There were too many questions, too many uncertainties, too many things she couldn't explain without the thoughts of a werewolf. She hadn't given up hope, but her plans had stalled. She had openly implored in the Daily Prophet for someone to come forward to help her in her endeavor, but even that add had received painful blowback. Draco was right. No one was going to be willing to reveal themselves and risk their lives for a cause they weren’t certain would succeed.

Exhausted, she climbed back in through the window and dropped facedown on her bed. She hadn't intended to fall asleep, but the next thing she knew, she woke to a ferocious pounding on her front door. She stumbled out of bed, glanced out the peephole, and quickly yanked the door open.

“Oh my god, Draco,” she gasped.

Draco looked like hell in a wrinkled mud-smudged shirt and trousers, barefoot and soaking wet. His hair was wild, his face was pale, and he was hunched over with his arm wrapped around his ribcage. Gasping for breath, he stumbled into her apartment and dropped into a kitchen chair.

Hermione bustled around him, soaking a towel with warm water and trying to wipe the mud from his face.

Draco batted her away. His knuckles were caked with blood and Hermione could see a network of scratches where the neck of his shirt hung open.

She grasped his hand and scrutinized the wounds. “What happened?”

“I'm fine,” he rasped. “I need a favor.”

Hermione drew back, uncertain, especially considering the state he was in.

Draco clutched her hand and pulled her closer. “I'll help you with the werewolf rights campaign, whatever you want,” he said hastily. “In return, I need you to get aurors to track someone. Now.”

“Who?”

“Sassaba,” he said. “She's a werewolf. She was running with me last night but the hunters caught her. She's on her way to the black market as we speak.”

Hermione didn't hesitate after that. She grabbed Draco's hands, yanked him to her fireplace, and transported them both to the Ministry of Magic. Draco stumbled along behind her, bleary from his transformation, towed by the hand as Hermione shouted orders at everyone in her path.

At some point, she thrust him into her office and began to rummage through a bag that apparently had no bottom. Her arm nearly disappeared inside it. After a few moments of searching, she pulled out a change of clothing and transfigured it into his size. She jammed the clothes into his arms, pushed him into the bathroom, and stood outside with her foot tapping while he changed into something dry. He washed his bloody hands and muddy face and quickly rejoined her.

“What next?” he tried to ask.

Hermione shushed him. She had transfigured her clothes into a tight-fitted black neoprene suit and had her bottomless bag tucked into the crook of her arm. She grasped his hand again and held her wand with the other. She blew through the hallways of the Ministry, collecting aurors and support staff like so many leaves in the wake of the tornado.

“Madison, did you track them?” she demanded of a secretary.

“It's done, Miss Granger,” the young woman assured her. “We tracked Mr. Malfoy's magical signature as it would be related to his fellow werewolf and locked on to a group of people behaving suspiciously. It is our belief that they have this Sassaba.”

Hermione straightened to her full height. “I need more than belief and suspicions. This girl's life is in danger.”

Madison's mouth opened and shut a few times. Then, she steeled herself and said, “Right away. I'll double check all the calculations.”

Draco watched the secretary rush off. All at once, he understood that Hermione hadn't been joking when she had said he would be under her protection. There was a reason Harry Potter had succeeded in defeating the Dark Lord and it wasn't based solely on his own skills. Hermione had been in his corner that whole time.

Hermione continued down the hallway, snatching people left and right on her warpath.

Draco heard someone running and turned in time to see Madison rush up to them. She was carrying her high heels in her hand and breathing hard. “I checked the calculations,” Madison told Hermione. “There's no way to track a werewolf for certain, but I analyzed Mr. Malfoy's magical signature. It's faint, but it was all over the package that these men were transporting. Then, I checked into them directly. They're all blood purists and half of them have already had run ins with aurors for assaulting people suspected of being cursed.”

Draco's skin crawled. Those bastards had Sassaba.

Hermione nodded and smiled at Madison. “Great work.”

Madison dropped her shoes and put them back on.

“Let's go, Draco,” Hermione said and took off briskly.

Draco hustled after her, his bare feet slapping on the cold tile.

They met with a collection of stiff-looking aurors at an apparation point. Hermione gave them a rundown of the situation, pausing so Draco could give them a description of Sassaba. Then, they apparated together to the point of contact. Hermione kept Draco at her side, her fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist. She could feel his scar through his shirt.

“Now, Draco, I need you to be calm when they come in,” she whispered. “Let the aurors do their jobs. They need to be caught with Sassaba or the charges won't stick, okay?”

Draco continued to stare at the closed door between them and Sassaba.

Hermione pinched him.

“Ouch!”

“Focus. You can't jump out at them. You have to let the aurors do their jobs. Can you do that?” Hermione demanded.

“No,” Draco told her. “If Sassaba is in danger, I'll get involved immediately.”

Hermione interlocked their fingers and held him tight. “She won't be in danger. I'll stop those people myself if I have to, but we have to let the aurors do their jobs.”

Draco snarled under his breath.

The door opened and a trio of men in dirty jeans strolled in, laughing and chattering. They were dragging a naked body behind them by the hair. Draco saw red and lunged from their hiding place, but Hermione yanked him backwards. His intervention wasn't needed however. The aurors took the traffickers completely by surprise. It took an instant to snap magical shackles on all of them.

Draco didn't bother trying to break Hermione's grip. He dragged her with him and dropped to his knees alongside the naked captive. He pulled her against him, raking her tousled hair out of her bruised face. Hermione drew her wand and tapped it against the girl's forehead.

“She's okay,” Hermione said with great relief. “She's got a mild concussion, but she's okay.”

Draco breathed out shakily and shrugged out of his shirt, swathing her nudity in it.

Hermione watched the exchange quietly. When Draco told her that he had been running with Sassaba the night of their transformations, Hermione had expected some kind of sordid or else loving relationship. Sassaba, however, appeared to be around ten and Draco was worrying over her like an older sibling. It took Hermione a while to realize that Draco was still holding her hand.

…

In the weeks that followed, Hermione spent more time with Draco than she had ever thought she would be able to stand. They worked tirelessly on the werewolf rights movement. Predictably, once Draco came out, he lost his job, but Hermione had enough pull to get him a job at the Ministry with her where she could confront anyone who insisted he shouldn’t be allowed to work there. Change started from within after all. Regardless of Draco's assistance, however, the process was still one step forward, two steps back.

Just as Draco predicted, people chose to focus on his ex-Death Eater status rather than his werewolf curse. It was hard to garner sympathy for someone like Draco even under the best of circumstances, but Hermione tried tirelessly. She brought in the silver trap and asked Draco to show his scars.

It wasn't until Sassaba came to the Ministry with her mother and asked to join their cause that they began making progress. An eleven-year-old girl with a concussion drew much more sympathy and support, especially when she tearfully told of Draco's self-sacrifice and her daring rescue from werewolf traffickers. The fate that had awaited Sassaba was not one Hermione wanted to hear ever again.

It took about six months for Hermione to get the first basic rights passed for the werewolves. The news arrived by sleek black owl right around five o'clock. She came streaking into the office Draco shared with a few others in their department and threw her arms around his neck with a squeal.

“We did it!” she shouted. “It's not everything, but it's something. Look!” She thrust the missive in his face.

Draco snatched it eagerly and skimmed the contents, his grey eyes lighting up from the inside. “You did it!” He snatched her up and squeezed her tightly, laughing.

“We have to celebrate!” Hermione delighted. “Let's go out to dinner, my treat!”

She didn't give Draco a chance to protest before dragging him out of the Ministry and into the clear afternoon sunlight. Still holding his hand, she walked briskly down the sidewalk. The sunlight dappled her face and shone in her hair. She beamed up at him, grinning widely. After about half a block, she realized that she was holding his hand and hastily let go of him.

“Sorry,” she said with a blush.

Draco smiled and reached for her hand again.

Hermione came to a stop, staring at him with wide eyes.

“None of this could have been possible without you,” Draco said softly. He pressed his lips to her knuckles, holding her gaze in his own. “Thank you.”

A slow smile spread across Hermione's face. “Come on,” she said and towed him into a nearby restaurant. “They have the best sushi rolls you'll ever try here.”

Draco had to duck to slip beneath the restaurant's bright doorway banner. Once inside, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The scent of soy and ginger wafted around him, a golden lucky cat waved from the low counter, and a long tank full of flashing fish and bamboo took up nearly an entire wall. Sweet flute music played over hidden speakers. He couldn't tell if he had stepped into a restaurant or another dimension.

A lovely young waitress in a silk dress with a mandarin collar greeted Hermione like an old friend. Her slanted eyes flickered appraisingly over Draco and she smiled knowingly. She ushered Hermione to a corner booth and returned almost immediately with a pot of steaming tea and two mugs.

“Come here often?” Draco asked teasingly.

Hermione poured a cup of tea for him. “Shut up. They have awesome food.”

Draco cradled the warm mug in his fingers and gazed at Hermione. Here was this young woman whom he had been raised to hate for no reason and she had done the unthinkable, not only for him, but for all others like him. She was… unbelievable and he wanted to make every day of the rest of her life the greatest he could. He wanted to support her, to see her happy, to give her everything he could. Not for the first time, he wished his family hadn’t lost their fortune, but for a completely different reason this time.

The waitress returned to take their order, smiling.

Hermione dove immediately into a list of sushi rolls, dumplings, and fried foods. When she finished, she glanced at Draco for approval, eyes bright.

“Sounds delicious,” he agreed, even though he hadn’t had a clue what half the items she ordered were.

Once the waitress left, Hermione delved into animatedly telling him about the subjugated race she wanted to help next. Maybe the centaurs or else the veelas, she told him with delight. She smiled beautifully, her eyes dancing, her lips shaping out passionately. She paused in her tirade often to ask his opinion and Draco gave it each time, surprised when she nodded thoughtfully. He had never been taken seriously, not the way Hermione listened to him.

The waitress brought their food and Draco stared down at everything in awe. He still had no idea what he was about to eat. Was that fish or a mushroom, pickled pink ginger or a bit of tongue? Hermione grinned at his expense and used chopsticks to daintily select bits for herself. Draco tried to match her, but the idea of using two sticks to eat escaped him.

“This is impossible,” he grumbled after feeding another dumpling to his lap. With his fingers, he put it into his mouth and chewed in bliss. It really was delicious.

Hermione giggled. “Here, I’ll show you.”

“Impossible,” he repeated sternly, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Do you have a fork in that bottomless bag of yours?”

“Probably,” she said with a shrug but didn’t deign to search for it.

Instead, she reached across the table and showed him how to hold his chopsticks. Her fingers were warm and gentle, absently touching a ridge of scarring on his knuckles with her thumb. She helped him capture a bit of spicy crab roll and cupped her hand until he managed it into his mouth. It was just as tasty as the dumpling. However, when he tried again on his own, he fed his lap once again. Hermione chuckled, selected a bite of something fried, and held it out to him.

“Here,” she offered.

Draco hesitated before leaning forward to take the morsel from her. He held her gaze the entire time, searching her face for an indication of her emotions.

She blushed, looked away hastily, and sputtered out, “What do you think?”

He licked his lips and folded his hands on the edge of the table. “Wonderful.”

She ate a bite of dragon roll, chewed, and swallowed. She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, suddenly looking nervous.

Draco studied her, his chopsticks abandoned.

After a moment, Hermione chose another bite for him and he leaned forward to accept it. Her desire to help knew no bounds and something hollow and aching in his chest was warmed by that. Abruptly, he wished he had something to offer her. He wished he wasn’t cursed so that he could be the kind of man she would consider, the kind of man she so deserved, the kind of man he could never be—not anymore. Werewolf aside, he was a former Death Eater.

The food turned to ash in his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. “I… I have to go.” He pushed away from the table and hastily departed, trying not to look like he was running.

“Draco! Wait!” Hermione protested.

She ran after him, catching the eye of the waitress to indicate she would be right back to pay the bill. Since she was so well-known here, the lovely young woman only nodded. Hermione was surprised to find that night had fallen outside the restaurant. How long had she sat, talking to Draco, laughing with him, eating?

“Draco, stop!”

He was half a block ahead of her, his dark clothing blending into the cityscape.

Hermione ran for all she was worth, praying he wouldn’t just apparate away, and some part of him must have wanted her to catch him because he didn’t. She caught his elbow and pulled hard, jerking him around to face her. She wanted to shout, but was too out of breath. He stood silently, studying her, his silvery eyes unreadable. Hermione clung to his jacket with both hands, gripping tight so that he couldn’t flee.

“Where are you going?” she panted. “Was it something I said?”

Immediately, he looked stricken. “No, nothing,” he assured her. He wanted to push the tangled curls out of her face, but didn’t dare. “It’s nothing you said.”

“Draco,” she continued. “Tell me what’s wrong. Why did you leave?”

He couldn’t put it to words. How could he ever explain what he wanted from her? How could he tell her that she had given him so much and yet he still wanted more? He was greedy and wicked. He wanted all of her—everything—and he wanted it for himself. He didn’t even have a fortune to offer her in return. He had nothing. He was just a cursed being, a human who had made impossible mistakes.

“Draco?” she breathed.

Some part of him wondered if he had spoken aloud. However, he realized that a single tear had slipped down his cheek, silvery in the faint moonlight. He could taste the salt of it and feel the chill on his skin where the wind touched it. Goosebumps rose along his arms and the back of his neck. He wanted to flee.

Hermione cradled his face in her warm palms. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Draco leaned forward and engulfed her, swallowed her up and devoured her like the beast he was. His kiss was hard, almost painful. He expected her to shove him away and run back to the safety of the restaurant. He expected her to hex him, curse him, banish him. He expected to lose everything he had never had once again.

However, Hermione planted her hands on his chest and pushed him back enough to gasp for breath. In that instant before he could run, she dove in again. Her teeth clashed with his and her tongue delved in. She tasted spicy and salty from their shared meal. She dug her fingers through his hair and pulled until there was not an inch of space between them.

Draco clutched her to the planes of his body, but his touch gentled when she did not push him away. He stroked her hair and her back, he felt the softness of her curves and the texture of her sweater, he inhaled the scent of her shampoo and skin. His fingers ran down her body, worshiping all that he could reach. He kissed her tenderly, licking into her open mouth, allowing her free reign of him.

She bit his lower lip, sucking it into her mouth. He made a sound, part bliss and part surrender. She dug her nails into his shoulders, clawing him closer, as though he might try to get away again. She wanted to melt, feeling his hands on her back and in his hair. He was so gentle, despite everything he had been through, despite everything that had been done to him. Gasping, she broke the kiss but kept her forehead to his.

His eyes were silver in the moonlight, so close that she thought she could see herself reflected in them.

“You,” he murmured, “are my goddess.”

The words lit inside her chest and she trembled.

Draco held her close to him, lifting her feet off the concrete so that she pressed fully against him.

Hermione kissed him again and again. She kissed him until she couldn’t breathe, until the tears tried on his face, until she felt that he would never be able to just run and leave her behind.

…

It took a little over a year for Hermione to gain all the rights she desired for werewolves. She worked closely with Draco the whole time. Seeing him interact with Sassaba—whom Hermione learned had been mauled and narrowly saved by Draco's interference, thanks to the Wolfsbane potion which allowed him to keep his human mind—showed her a side of Draco that she hadn't even known existed. He was unfailingly sweet and loyal and had proven to be a valuable asset.

Hermione watched him work, his head bowed over a pile of documents that needed to be read and approved. Occasionally, he pushed his long fingers through the fringe of his pale hair or nibbled his lower lip. Hermione could still see the bracelet of scars on his forearm. She wanted to press her mouth to his forehead, to his bitten lip, to his scars.

Draco glanced up and caught her staring. “What's up?”

“Nothing,” she said and rose from behind her own desk. She perched on his, her legs stretched out.

Draco's eyes traced up her exposed thighs and then settled on her face.

Hermione closed the space between them, kissing him sweetly.

Draco immediately abandoned his work. He dropped his pen and threaded his fingers into her curls, tugging her closer and angling his chin to deepen the kiss. Hermione opened her mouth, snaking her tongue out to taste him, moaning quietly when he returned her kiss with equal fervor.

She slipped down from his desk, where she had been awkwardly seated, and straddled his lap. His arms circled her like a castle, pressing her flush against him. She grasped his shoulders, feeling the ridges of his muscles and bones. She rocked down against the growing hardness and gasped when he pressed back into her.

Since the office door was open, Hermione broke the kiss before she did something her coworkers wouldn’t appreciate. Then again, she had seen the appreciative glances thrown at Draco. Certainly Madison wouldn't mind the show, but Hermione would find it difficult to meet the young woman's eyes after that.

Draco smirked, his forehead resting against hers. “What's on your mind?”

“I'm happy,” Hermione said and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Can't I just be happy?”

Draco huffed a little.

Hermione ignored whatever jibe he was about to come up with and wiggled in his lap.

He groaned instead and clenched his hands in the back of her blouse. “What are you doing to me?”

She chuckled and rested her forearms on his shoulders, idly threading her fingers into the short hair at the back of his neck. “What would you like me to do to you?”

Draco's gaze strayed to the clock.

“Dinner and drinks?” Hermione suggested.

Draco hesitated, biting his lip.

Hermione couldn't resist kissing him again.

He withdrew after a moment, leaning back so that he could look at her. There was something in his grey eyes—a hesitant look that she had seen before.

“What's wrong?” Hermione asked, combing his fringe back.

“I'd love to,” he said nervously, “but... tonight's the full moon.”

Hermione gasped. She couldn't believe she had forgotten. They had been so busy lately, working on something that would give basic rights to all non-humans, but that was no excuse. She touched his cheek and asked, “Oh, do you need to go? Is Sassaba waiting for you?”

Draco shook his head and pressed a fingertip to her nose. “You made the Wolfsbane potion accessible to all werewolves, remember? Sassaba doesn't need my protection anymore.”

Hermione batted his hand away, confused as to why he looked so troubled. “Then...?”

He licked his lips and then slowly asked, “I was wondering if you wanted to spend my transformation with me? Tonight?”

Even though they had worked so closely together for werewolf rights in the past year and become increasingly close as a result, Draco hadn't allowed Hermione to see anything of his transformation since the night she had hit him with her car. His curse had felt like something forbidden between them, like something he was ashamed of.

“You don't have to,” Draco continued and his voice was very small.

Hastily, Hermione threaded her fingers through his hair and tilted his head to meet her eyes. “I would love to,” she said gently.

Draco smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “I have to floo home to get my potion, but I'll meet you at your place before sunset.”

“I'll be there,” Hermione promised. “Should I cook something or...?”

He shook his head. “You don't have to do anything special for me.”

“You are special to me,” she murmured.

Draco shuddered, the words going through him like a physical touch. Even after all this time, he still seemed surprised and flattered when she spoke sweetly to him.

Hermione traced her fingers along the scar on his forearm. “I'll see you then.”

With another kiss, Draco lifted her from his lap and back onto his desk. He gathered his bag, shrugged into his coat, and headed into the main floor to floo home.

Hermione took a few extra minutes to wrap things up so she could come in late tomorrow morning. Though Draco had kept his transformations private, he always looked exhausted afterwards. Hermione wanted to try to make him feel better before they came to work. Finished, she let Madison know that they might be late tomorrow.

Madison smiled knowingly. “Oh? Tonight's the full moon.”

“I know,” Hermione said and chose to ignore Madison's raised brow. “Be careful. All the crazies are out.”

Madison chuckled.

Hermione stepped into the fireplace and tossed a handful of floo powder at her feet. She stepped out into her living room and took in the state of her apartment. She had Draco had been working so hard that she was only returning to sleep and shower and it showed. Books and papers were scattered, dishes were piled in the sink, and laundry was thrown in a heap. She immediately began to straighten up, waving her wand to set the dishes to wash themselves. She stuffed her laundry into the washing machine and half-heartedly put away some books.

The sky outside was growing dark, but there was still quite a bit of time before the moon rose.

There was a whuff and she turned to see Draco step out of her fireplace. He had a satchel over his shoulder and had changed into some comfortable casual clothes. “Hey,” he greeted.

Hermione tossed a book onto the top of the pile. “Hey yourself.”

Draco dipped his head to kiss her, dropped his bag on the couch, and sat beside it. “So, what do you want to ask me?”

“Ask you?” Hermione repeated.

Draco spread his hands with a shrug. “I know you. You're a know-it-all and I... I've never really addressed your questions about my transformation. I'm ready to tell you anything you want to know.”

Hermione sank down on the coffee table directly in front of him. “You don't have to.”

“I want to,” he assured her. “And if you really want me to stay here tonight, I want you to know what you're getting in to.”

Thoughtfully, Hermione took his hands and ran her thumb over his knuckles. “I know the Wolfsbane potion allows you to keep your human mind, but... you had taken the potion the night I hit you with my car...” she trailed off, thinking of the way she had bound him with magical chains. That night, werewolf Draco had still snapped and snarled at her.

Draco squeezed her fingers. “The silver in that trap had poisoned me and I was seriously injured. It won't be like that tonight, I promise.”

Hermione studied his face. “What... what will it be like?”

“Do you like dogs?” he said instead.

“Well, yeah,” she said, confused by the change in topic.

“I won't be so different from a dog once I transform. Bigger, sure, but my temperament will be about the same.”

Hermione studied him. “There is one thing I've always wanted to know, but you don't have to tell me if you don't want to,” she said softly. “How did you become a werewolf?”

Draco's fingers tightened and a little tremor went through his entire body. Goosebumps rose on his arms, standing the fine hairs.

Hastily, Hermione assured him, “You don't have to tell me. I was just curious. It doesn't matter.”

He shook his head. “No, I'll tell you,” he said and took a deep breath. “It was... punishment for my family, for my father, for failing Voldemort. I was given to Fenrir Greyback to turn.” Draco loosened his grip on her fingers and gingerly peeled off his t-shirt.

It was the first time Hermione had seen him without it and a gasp strangled in her throat. The scar on his forearm was nothing compared to the massive mauling that spread across his shoulder and down his torso over his heart. She reached to touch, but hesitated, uncertain. It looked unbelievably painful—still, even now, even healed.

Draco took her hand with a shaky breath and laid her palm over his heart, right over the worst of the scarring. “Fenrir almost killed me. He tore me apart, but there were wizards standing by to make sure I didn't die. You know the rest. On the next full moon, I turned. My mother realized what would happen to me if Voldemort won. My blood wasn't pure anymore, not pure enough for him. That's why she helped you, so she could save me.”

Hermione stroked her thumb across the scar. She could feel his heart pounding. Draco was frightened of her response, of her reaction to the truth, and Hermione couldn't bear that. Without a word, she shifted into his lap, wrapped her arms around him tightly, and buried her face into his neck.

“I love you,” he whispered, so quietly that she almost didn't hear it.

Hermione drew back just enough to kiss him, pouring her feelings into him. “I love you too,” she murmured.

Draco glanced out the window. “The moon will be up soon,” he said and rummaged through his bag for his potion. He drank it without preamble and put the thermos away. Shirtless, he also slipped out of his pants. He was commando under them, Hermione thought blankly. “You can watch if you like,” he offered.

Hermione snapped her eyes back to his face, blushing.

Usually, Draco would have jumped on her embarrassment, but he looked nervous. However, he didn't get a chance to speak nor did she have an opportunity to reassure him. The moon breached the cloud cover and the transformation fell upon him. Hermione had seen Remus Lupin transform years ago, but that was nothing compared to the up-close-and-personal view she had of Draco now.

He cried out, little whimpers and gasps tearing from his mouth as his jaw snapped and lengthened. His bones cracked, stretching in places and shrinking in others. His spine stuck out, curling and bending as he shifted. A low whine took root in his chest and spread, coursing through him as his fingers turned to paws and his teeth changed to fangs. He remained standing unsteadily on two feet once the transformation subsided, whimpering and hunched.

A little well of fear sprang forth inside Hermione's heart as he turned those too-human eyes on her. However, for the first time, she could see Draco inside the beast. Shaking only slightly, she stretched out her hand. The werewolf didn't hesitate before nosing into her palm. His breath puffed warm on her wrist and then his long tongue lapped across her palm. Hermione shivered at the sensation as his fangs scraped, but he made no move to harm her. She knew he never would.

Hermione sank down on the couch and patted the cushion beside her. The worn sofa creaked as his weight settled on it. The werewolf lay his head in her lap and Hermione scratched his ears idly. She powered on the television and he lifted his head to stare at it, a low whine creeping out of his mouth. Hermione rubbed his back, feeling the knobs of his protruding spine. Gods above, werewolves really were cursed.

Draco gazed up at her, a rumbling sort of growly purr coming from his chest. He nosed back under her hand, snuggling close, less like a dog and more like a cat. Hermione continued to pet him until the moon was high in the sky. She had expected him to be restless, wanting to run, but he remained curled at her side. His ribs expanded and contracted as he breathed. The light played on a scar that lingered on his side. It might have been the one her car had left and she traced it with a fingertip.

After midnight, she beckoned the wolf to come to bed. He came without protest, though her mattress creaked mournfully. Hermione settled herself around him, holding as tight as she dared. Sometime in the night, she dozed off and woke to the sensation of the werewolf's hot tongue licking her fingers. She almost scolded him, but it wasn't erotic. It was more like grooming. Smiling into his skin, she fell back asleep and woke only when—in a riot of cracks and groans—the transformation fell away with the rising sun.

Draco didn't look as exhausted as he usually did, but he still looked wan and drained. “Hey,” he whispered and his voice was a croak from disuse.

“Good morning,” Hermione said. She rolled over to grab her water bottle from the nightstand and offered it to him.

He sipped slowly, his face frighteningly pale.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded. “It's just rough, that's all.”

Hermione combed his sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead with her fingers. “Rest a while,” she said gently. “We don't have to be to work until later.”

Draco nodded and snuggled nearer.

Hermione lifted the blankets for him and he curled into her, his arms circling her waist and his head tucking under her chin. Hermione held him, stroking all of his bared body that she could reach. His muscles trembled and he was wracked with small shudders regardless of her warmth. She could feel the texture of the scars on his back, shoulder, and chest. She pressed a kiss to his temple, feeling his even breath and heartbeat. At least she was secure in the knowledge that things were better for him and all the other werewolves out there now that her laws had been passed. His nights of running through the forests, fearing for his life, getting hit by cars were over.

Draco roused himself with a quiet moan a few hours later. 

Hermione guessed it was around eight by the bright sunshine streaming between the closed curtains.

“Morning,” he said blearily but his cheeks were no longer so white.

Hermione rested her forehead against his, checking his temperature. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” he said and kissed her lips gently. “Thanks for... staying.”

She gave him a little squeeze. “Where would I go?”

Draco huffed a breath against her collarbones, but didn't say any of the self-deprecating things he was surely thinking.

Hermione pressed a kiss to his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and finally his lips. 

After a moment, Draco melted into her arms. He nuzzled her cheek, inhaling the scent of her skin. “I wish I could still smell you,” he murmured.

She giggled. “Smell me? What do you mean?”

Draco ran his lips along her jaw. “When I'm transformed, all my senses are enhanced—smell, taste, hearing, sight. I can smell all of you, so much of you... I wish I could smell you like that always,” he murmured. His tongue snaked out, just the tip tracing the line of her neck. 

Hermione shivered. Somehow, his tongue felt rougher than usual. “Draco,” she murmured.

He touched his teeth to her pulse and nibbled gently. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“For what?” she asked.

“You felt it, didn't you?” 

“Felt what?”

Draco drew back slightly, resting his weight on his elbows and looking down at her. There was that look in his eyes again, timid and uncertain. “This close to coming down from my transformation, some parts of the werewolf remain... like this.” He stretched out his tongue.

Hermione flushed for a moment. His tongue was long, longer than usual, and she could see a raised texture along it. Experimentally, she reached out to feel and Draco curled his tongue around her finger. He drew it into his mouth, lapping around her knuckles and against the soft webbing between her fingers. He sucked gently and Hermione's mind went white. What would it feel like to have that tongue—which was always wicked and talented—between her legs?

“Kiss me,” she breathed instead.

Draco released her finger with a pop, licked his lips, and lowered his head to kiss her. Hermione opened her mouth immediately and licked the seam of his lips, begging entrance. Draco didn't deny her. He never denied her. She delved inside, drawing his tongue out to play. She could feel the roughness and nibbled it gently, enjoying the growl of pleasure that crawled from Draco's throat. His thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, so long that it touched the back of her throat. Surprised, she gagged and Draco immediately withdrew. His cheeks were pink, ashamed.

Hermione cupped his face, pressing a little kiss to the tip of his nose, and drew him back in. She enticed his tongue back out to play, sucking it into her mouth. Draco hesitated, timidly running his long tongue along her teeth and against the roof of her mouth. She shuddered, the sensation unfamiliar but intriguing. She angled her head, urging him deeper. Again, he touched his tongue to the back of her throat and felt her muscles relax to welcome him. He licked her throat from the inside, long tongue sliding not as deep as she could swallow his cock, but deeper than Hermione had ever thought possible. 

The sensations of his tongue moving inside her mouth and throat the same way it moved inside her pussy made her mind go white. She clutched Draco's face, tangling her fingers in his hair, and moaned lowly. He drew his tongue back so that she could breathe fully and then slid it back. The thrust was uncanncy, especially when she felt him lick the base of her tongue. No one had ever done that before and it sent a bolt of heat directly between her legs. She groaned and Draco did it again.

His hand trailed mindlessly down her chest, pausing to squeeze her breasts in time with the thrusts into her throat. Hermione opened her mouth wider, giving him all the access he could ever want and closed her eyes to better focus on the feelings coursing through her. She was so focused on Draco's long tongue that she didn't notice his hand until it pinched firmly on her clit. She cried out, closing her teeth on his tongue and feeling every inch as he thrust it into her mouth. 

Her orgasm coursed through her and it was all she could do not to bite him as her muscles spasmed. Draco held her tightly to him and she could feel him smirking against her lips. He withdrew from her mouth, allowing her to gasp desperately for breath. She shivered, sensitive to his every touch as his fingers gently stroked her through her panties.

“Draco,” she murmured. 

In one smooth movement, he rolled on top of her and she wrapped her legs around his naked hips. Abruptly, she cursed herself for deciding to put on pajamas. She wished she could feel every inch of his skin against her own. Draco rocked his hips against her clothed core, letting her feel his desire for her. Hermione ran her hands down his back, cupped his bare behind, and squeezed. He dipped down and kissed her, chastely compared to what he had just been doing, and she hummed softly, trying to draw his tongue inside again.

However, Draco withdrew from the kiss before she could deepen it and studied her. She was flushed and breathing hard. Her tangled hair was fanned all around her head, her breasts swelled over the neck of her tank top, and her lips were swollen from his kisses. However, her dark eyes were full of understanding and love. Gods, she was so beautiful. 

Draco tugged her tank top from the bottom and she sat up so he could peel it off her. Then, he kissed down her chest without paying attention to her straining nipples and pulled her shorts and panties down with his teeth. Exposed to his eyes, he looked at her like she was a feast. Hermione smiled and encouragingly spread her legs. Her inner thighs were still trembling from her first orgasm and Draco ran his warm palms along her muscles, kneading the flesh. He kissed the joint of her hip, drawing his tongue over the bone. She bucked against him, but he willfully ignored her desire.

“Draco, please,” she whined.

The sound of his name on her lips, as ever, was his undoing.

He spread her open with his thumbs and dove into the feast spread beneath him. She was soaking wet, her muscles winking hungrily for whatever he could give, and wanton. She cried out, gasping in bliss as he licked a broad stroke over the entirety of her sex. His tongue was rougher than she had expected on her sensitive pearl and she arched off the bed, gasping mindless syllables that sounded like his name. He gentled, knowing how sensitive she was, and licked again.

She tasted so sweet, muskier, and the scent of her arousal filled his mind. He wanted more, he wanted to taste her orgasm the moment it came. Spreading her further, he licked the length of her and held her down when she squirmed. Her channel opened for him, hungry, and he snaked the length of his rough tongue inside. A ragged moan tore from her and she clutched his head, pulling his hair. He reached deeper than ever before, stroking places that she had never known existed, pressing into the spongy surface just inside.

Draco placed his thumb on her clit and stroked it, wriggling his tongue deeper and licking her walls. He made such sloppy noises as he devoured her that goosebumps broke out on her skin. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pressing him flush against her, whimpering when he lapped inside her. Already, she could feel her orgasm building and bucked desperately against his mouth. Draco held her hips down, his fingers stroking in little tickling touches along her pelvis. He pressed just the ridge of his teeth to her clit and she came in an explosion of color, crying his name like a prayer.

He withdrew enough to lick her gently, letting her ride the waves of her pleasure to the coast. Then, when she collapsed to breathe shakily, he crept up her body, licking his lips clean of her and dropping little kisses along the way. Hermione trembled at the sight, a new flush of arousal pooling in her core. 

She gripped his chin and towed him in for a kiss. She could taste herself and feel his rough tongue. Draco slid it into her mouth, pressing it behind her teeth and running it against her tongue. 

He settled between her spread thighs like he belonged there, feeling the brand of her heat and surrounded by her scent. The wolf, usually a beastly thing clawing at his insides the morning after, was peaceful and quiet. He clutched her to his naked chest, feeling her quickened heartbeat and the little tremors that accompanied her orgasm. He thought about drifting back to sleep like that, surrounded by her.

Hermione combed her fingers through his hair, down his back, over his buttocks, and back. He shuddered, curling into her, wrapping his mouth over the pulse of her throat and sucking absently. She tilted her hips and he moved obligingly, giving her space. However, she wrapped her fingers around his cock and began to align him with her. 

Despite what she could feel, despite what she knew, she still wanted him. She still wanted him.

Draco didn't want anything to change that. His heart clenched and he forced himself to draw his hips away.

“Draco?” she murmured, dragging her fingernails over his back as she tried to hold him close. “What is it?”

“We can't,” he told her and his voice gave away his want.

Hermione sat up slightly, catching his chin and turning his head to look at her. “Why not?”

“I told you,” he said softly, “this close, parts of me are still the wolf.”

Hermione wrapped her fingers around his erection and he gasped. She knew what he usually felt like—his thickness, his length, and his size. Everything felt normal and she inquisitively looked at him. Draco couldn't help but buck into her loose grip, hungrier and more desperate than usual. His skin was alive with sensation. He could smell and taste her so much more strongly than usual.

“What is it?” she asked. “It all feels the same.”

“For now,” he said breathlessly, “but once we... Do you know what happens when wolves ejaculate?”

Idly, Hermione stroked him as she thought. Then, finally, she said, “Yes, I do.”

Draco gasped when she ran her thumb over his weeping head. “So you see why we can't,” he breathed out.

“I don't see that,” Hermione said.

Draco's eyes flicked open and he searched her face. “What?”

She kissed him slowly. When they broke apart, she said cheerfully, “You must not know this, but vaginas are really amazing.”

Draco groaned, his breath gusting hotly on her throat. 

“They're elastic,” she told him. “And I, personally, have always wondered what it would be like to be with someone huge.”

A little smile pulled at Draco's lips, mingling with a blush that was part arousal and part shame. “Are you saying you want to...?”

“We can try it,” she told him. “If it's too much, we can always stop before it gets to that point.”

Draco kissed her sweetly. “Anything you want,” he whispered.

They fell back into kissing and Draco would have been happy to kiss her forever, letting her stroke his hair and shoulders, feeling the heat of her core against his hip. His erection strained, but he was happy to ignore it. He didn't want to pressure her, not with something like this. After a moment, Hermione began to draw him in again, her grip firm and certain, but Draco had to ask.

“Are you sure?” he breathed. 

“Yes,” she told him and canted her hips.

She was dripping wet and open, so ready, so ravenous for him. Draco sheathed himself inside and her body already knew the shape of his cock. Her muscles welcomed him and he groaned, shuddering at the closeness that only she had ever been able to give him. He was so lucky, so grateful to have her, so in love. He couldn't help but kiss her again as he began to thrust. She threw her head back, throat flashing as she gasped for breath. Draco fastened his mouth to her windpipe and sucked until he knew she would bear his mark. 

For obvious reasons, he had never been with anyone so close to his transformation's end. His heart thundered behind his ribs and his hips snapped into her at an animalistic pace. Her breasts bounced with the force and it was all she could to just to hold on to him as he jack-hammered inside her. His skin was over-sensitive to everything—the scrape of her nails and teeth, the tickle of her wild hair, the strength of her legs around his waist, the velvet glove of her pussy, sucking him inside. He gasped, his forehead beading with sweat. 

“Draco,” she gasped desperately, clinging to him.

He grasped her hip and began pounding in earnest. He hadn't thought he would be able to go faster, but he could. Her breath exploded from her lungs with each thrust and she gasped syllables of his name. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders. She could feel his scar and abruptly kissed it, running her lips along the mauling over his heart. Draco shuddered, his entire body seizing up with the sensations running through him. Hermione clung to him, riding out the final waves as he buried himself to the hilt inside her. She felt him spilling, the seed nearly scorching her, and moaned lowly.

Draco collapsed on top of her, breathing hard into her hair, soaking up the scent of her. He fumbled a hand between them and began to rub her clit. She squirmed, but his weight pinned her down. It wasn't long before her gasping voice rose in pitch and he felt her muscles convulse in a vice around his aching cock. She milked the seed from him, pulling him in deeper, welcoming him. 

They lay together for a few seconds, breathing hard.

Draco shivered, his whole body tensing.

Hermione hushed him. Then, she felt it. 

At the base of his cock, there was a pressure she had never felt before. It was larger than she was used to and she shifted experimentally, trying to get comfortable. Draco tried to pull away, but it was already inside her. Despite the soaking wetness, Hermione realized it was too late. Draco's knot was growing inside her.

She felt Draco's fear mount, his shoulders and hips coiling. She wanted to panic as well—after all, she had no idea how large it would be—but she couldn't let Draco react and hurt her. Instead, she wrapped her arms tight around his chest and held on.

“Don't move,” she whispered.

Draco made a little sound of alarm.

The knot continued to swell inside her. Her muscles stretched to accommodate him and she squeezed her eyes shut. She had never had something so large inside herself before. She couldn't see the knot, but it felt the size of a fist. Her muscles were liquid from three orgasms and stretched to accept. It ached and Hermione began to worry how she would get them apart without hurting either one of them. Something like this was certainly going to be too much for her.

Then, just as she was about to open her mouth and tell Draco it was too much, it stopped swelling. The knot was seated inside her opening, large and firm, anchored there like a little heartbeat. Hermione shifted slightly, expecting pain, but it was delicious. She pressed her muscles down on him, feeling the girth of it. 

Draco's entire body shook. Little gasps and whimpers escaped his lips. 

She raised a hand to stroke the damp hair from his face. 

His eyes were wide, nervous, and he was biting his lower lip hard. 

She lifted her chin to give him a little kiss, feeling his knot shift as she moved. “It's good,” she told him. “It's so good.”

The fear that had been marring his expression melted. Draco smiled and tilted his hips just a little further. Hermione became aware that the head of his cock was pressed against her womb, bottomed out, and that she was completely stuffed with him. Pure bliss washed over her. 

Then, she became aware of something else. Though his knot had stopped growing, he was still coming inside her. She would feel him twitch as little jets of semen filled her up. With his knot anchored inside her, it bottled up the copious seed that spilled from him. She pressed a hand to her lower belly and groaned at the pressure.

Slowly, the tremors faded and Draco pulled back to search her face. “Are you okay?” he whispered and his voice was hoarse.

Hermione shifted beneath him slightly. She was so full, of him, of his seed, of his most precious secret. She smiled with delight and ran her fingertips along his exposed back. “I'm wonderful,” she murmured. “In fact, I think this is something I could get used to.”

For a moment, Draco looked so shocked that Hermione was worried he would pass out. Then, he smiled and dipped his head to kiss her. He cradled her to his chest and rolled them both over so that she could be more comfortable while they waited for his knot to recede. She straightened up, sitting astride him. She looked down at him, spread beneath her. He was beautiful, gazing up at her like she hung the stars in the sky.

“I love you,” she whispered and bent over to kiss him gently. 

She had to sit back up quickly though, groaning. The pressure inside her was a little too much. She was too full and it was visible. Hermione pressed her hands to her belly, looking at the little bump all the semen and his knot had created inside her. She cradled the bulge between her palms, stroking it absently.

Draco studied her, his waist expanding beneath her thighs as he breathed. Then, his silvery eyes wide and uncertain, he placed his palm over the minor swell and caressed it tenderly. Hermione could see in his face what he was dreaming of. It was difficult to bend down and kiss him with something so large inside, but she managed.

XXX

Sassaba means 'the wolf' in Native American.

Potential chapter? I wouldn't be opposed to writing an additional chapter [either for this specifically or a separate idea] in which werewolf!Draco and Hermione have some full-on bestiality smut, but only if a few people [say like five to ten] are interested in seeing something like that. 

Questions, comments, concerns?


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